


Before We Turn To Stone

by skydancer1895



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Women, Bullying, Everyone Tries Their Best, Everyone swears, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Victor Krum, Growth, Isolation, M/M, Minor Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Mistakes, No underage, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slow Burn, Wolfstar as really minor established relationship, even the adults, not really student/teacher, of sorts, quarantine of sorts, time is complicated, time-travel, time-travel fix it, what if everyone had a brain, yes both our wolf boi is bi and deserved better damnit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24718147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skydancer1895/pseuds/skydancer1895
Summary: Time travel. Invisibility. The multiverse theory. That person in the mirror who is-not-quite-you. Severus Snape. Pureblood-Patriarchy. Isolation, alienation, change, the delicate pain of growing into your true self. And her own damn inner critique. How complicated can a life get, Hermione wonders. And when she returns from her time jump, she starts to understand that this is just the beginning.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Ron Weasley & Hermione Granger, Hermione Granger & Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger / Harry Potter friendship, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Peter Pettigrew & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 32
Kudos: 43





	1. Perspective betrays with its dichotomy

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to JKR, other quotes are marked as such.  
> Warnings: Canon typical violence, bullying, swearing, loneliness, issues, and lots of inner monologue.This will be long. This will be wordy. There is a lot of introspective and overthinking. We have loneliness, sadness, grieve, PTSD, trauma, canon-typical violence. I will put warnings before every chapter if necessary. Please tell me if you feel I missed something! Practice self care. It matters.
> 
> I had that story uploaded in full a while ago, but decided on a do-over due to criticism. English is not my first language, so be warned: It will never be perfect. 
> 
> I wanted to mention that, despite the me-perspective, Hermione's thoughts are not necessarily my own. I also don't always agree with her, or the other characters in this story. I am also not very apologetic. People will get called out on their bs. Anything I consider triggering will be marked in every chapter, with possibilities to just skip it. Please don't hesitate to ask questions, or just say hi, or leave any note about what you liked or hated or noted, or whatever you like. Also, no Ron-bashing. I love Ron. Hermione, well, let's see.

The multiverse theory has always been my favorite brain teaser. Not only because of the humble thought that our version of the world is far from being all there is – no, mostly because of all the possibilities. If every little change in a situation could lead to a completely different outcome, and if all these different outcomes could somehow exist next to each other, how close are we in every moment to any different reality, any different world, any different version of ourselves?

Sounds confusing, I know. And way over the top. And now, add the possibility of actual time travel. Welcome to the mindfuck of a lifetime. 

Oops, and there it is. Yes, I, Hermione Jane Granger, used the infamous F-Word. I have to admit that I do that quite often, if only in my head. Ever since I first came up with the theory that some of the teachers actually _can_ read minds. 

It was not even a real experiment, no carefully planned set up, control groups, no protocols. Just me, deciding that they can make me wear these riddiculous uniforms, and make me share a room with two strangers, dictate what I eat and when and even what my core values are, all for the price of magic - and they may _know_ what I _think,_ but they cannot _admit_ it.

What a sad, small, unimportant victory, in hindsight. I was not that happy at eleven years old. 

Things are better now, of course. Nevertheless, I still do it. On the outside, I stay proper Miss Granger, but in my head I like a little shock moment from time to time. For example when the headmaster told us about the end of our adventure in the teacher's maze back in first year, with You-know-who and Harry. I was so shocked my mind repeated something a trucker once said on a parking lot, while I was on a camping trip with my family. And for a moment, for a split second, I saw Professor Dumbledore flinch.   
Never told the boys, tough. Would drive them batshit crazy.

Ah, right, the keyword to my original trail of thoughts, crazy. Multiverse theory. All the possibilities. Even though we can never see them, never peek into them, I am sure they are there. Even the muggle scientists have my back on that. This is one of the reasons I was able to pick up the Time-Turner at first, when it was offered to me. Because I was already used to the what-if kind of thinking you need to operate it without completely messing up.  
I did, on the other hand, mess up completely. Not with time, no. With myself. Now that it's over, I feel like the Hogwarts Express appeared out of thin air behind me and ran me over. Twice. 

And it was a bit much, to be honest. My best friend hunted by a killer, keeping my second-favorite teacher's dark secret, the thing with Scabbers, the thing with Wormtail, happiness-sucking Dementors everywhere, the damn finals, and a rescue mission straight out of a muggle action movie. Also, the fact that I worked through the load of all the courses... All. The. Courses. Work for two or three normal people, or two or three okay years, all crammed in one. 

It meant not only learning. It meant days on repeat, nights blurring into mornings, always moving, always on guard, carefully planning every step (no one must see you!), lying and hiding. And the not so good days, when no one spoke to me, felt even longer. When you move around in time like I did, you don't have the small mercy of knowing that your day will end in a few hours, and you can curl up by yourself in a corner. Night comes, and you have to do it all again. 

And for what, in the end? Yes, I think this is a valid question. Of course, it had been an incredible happy coincide in the end. The only real chance for Sirius Black and the hippogriff. But for the first time, a small voice in my head asks if it had been wise, what Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had decided back then for me. 

The thought alone sends anxiety like spiders down my spine and makes my stomach flutter - a horrible feeling. I almost trip over my own feet, and have to steady myself on the castle wall. I should try and not get _that_ lost in my head when walking...

And what am I even thinking? It had been a favor, an exception, a signal of their trust in me! But, still - seriously. Everyone had always told me to focus on what I really want, to shoot for the moon (even if you miss you land among the stars), to always give my best. And since that had worked most of the time, I give my best. 

It's not that academics is all I care about. But this, Hogwarts, is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can learn magic, for heaven's sake! And everyone told me since forever that my success in school will be the foundation of my whole life. Whatever lesson I screw up now cannot be repeated, what I learn and earn now cannot be taken from me. I am holding my own fate in my hand, my own future, and I plan it to be bright.

This is just how the game is played, is it not? You excell in school, you follow the rules, the doors of the adult world open for you, you pick your field and start writing your own rules. Let them laugh now, make their jokes on my expense now, roll their eyes, my time will come. Time to make a change from the inside, get into the system and make it work for you. And, to be true, as much as the magical world is great, it is also very flawed. 

For example the way Dobby was treated, what Harry told me was just horrible. Or that, apparently, Sirius was put in prison without a real investigation. Yes, he yelled he was guilty, I read it in the papers. But he was guilty of their death, in his mind, since he trusted the wrong friend. A few drops of Vertiaserum, someone smart asking the right questions, a few hours of therapy (all right, a few more hours) and things didn't have to be so terrible. 

Yes, that's it. The one thing the boys will never get. The system, the whole of it, was designed to make things work. You can break the rules, undermine it, but in the end, it was designed to help. To make things easier. And it was made by people, so people can change it. So, I give it all, always, and everyone knows that. Everyone. So, when we look at it from a logical angle, has it really been smart to offer unlimited time to someone who would for sure go into unlimited studying with it, to someone who pushed their own boundaries that far?   
There is this tiny voice in my head, doubting the undoubtable, and it just won't shut up. 

No, I tell the tiny voice. That's highly unfair. They all told me to use it carefully and reasonably. It's not their fault that I went overboard. 

There is a reason that it is forbidden to do magic outside school or drink alcohol unless we are seventeen, insists the voice. They think we students cannot even handle that, and still, they gave you that temptation, let you meddle with time... 

_Oh, stopp it, now._ Rationality has woken up and participates in my discussion. 

Good ol' ratio has always helped me to come back to the here and now. I shake my head with determination and let my curls fly like an additional exclamation mark. The voice had always been there, when I am honest, the devil on the shoulder. I blame the books, mostly. You can only read so much about Mathilda, Pippi Longstocking, and the Red Zora without creating a little rebel inside of your head, one that whispers what if, as you go along and do things the right, the correct, the rewarded way.

But there is a reason for the rules in the first place, right? 

Enough of this, I tell myself as I reach Professor McGonagall's office. I really need to stop talking to myself that much. It's not good. But sometimes, a girl needs expert advice... 

Okay, Hermione, get yourself together. Don't panic. This year was mad and probably pretty unhealthy. But it's over. The burden of choice will be gone soon, and I'm going to have normal, 24-hour-days again, just as any normal, sane person out there. Yes. That's good. Okay, relax. 

After another deep breath, I knock. The door opens itself, and I get in. There is Professor McGonagall, as expected, and another witch, not expected. She probably comes from the Ministry, to make sure everything is in it's right order. After all, a Time-Turner is a sensitive matter. The other witch is quite a contrast to our head of house: She is short, plump, wears a friendly rose colored costume, and a brooch with a kitten. I appreciate that she tries to make herself look as unthreatening as possible, even tough she went a little overboard with it. But still, the thought is nice. 

"This is the student, Hermione Jane Granger," introduces Professor McGonagall. She gives me a very short, tiny smile, but I notice it nevertheless. 

"Miss Granger, this is the First Undersecretary, Mrs. Umbridge. She is here to take the Time-Turner back." 

I smile at the secretary. "Thank you for coming here, Mrs. Umbridge. I also wanted to say, thank you again for the opportunity the Ministry gave me. It has been great to learn all these things." 

I pull out the Time-Turner from my pocket and place it on the table. Without it, I feel strangely naked. It sits there, looking heavy despite the fragile structure of glas and gold and sand. 

I fold my hands on the table behind it and try to look as innocent as possible. Professor McGonagall smiles at me. Mrs. Umbridge does, too, but her smile isn't reaching her eyes. 

"Well, well, well. We will see, Miss Granger. Cornelius, I mean, the minister, with whom I am really close... " 

Is it really necessary to mention that and to take a break to make sure everyone gets it? 

"... has told me quite a troublesome story, that Dumbledore came up with concerning a recently escaped murderer." 

I don't like her voice. And, what is even more important: I don't like what she says. Professor McGonagall's lips turn into a small slit. 

"It included a lot of secret animagi wizards, dead people walking free, and a very emotional connection from our dear Mr. Potter to said criminal. I wonder if this girl, Mr. Potter's dear friend, would have found a convenient way to be there in time for the criminal's rescue? That would be a crime, wouldn't it? In that case, an extermination will take place, including Professor Dumbledore and you, dear Professor McGonagall. Since you have vouched for that girl." 

Oh no. Oh. No. Not good. The one time the Ministry has a clue what's going on, and it is a disaster. Professor McGonagall throws me a glare that means _shut up._ I get the message. This is highly political, and everything I say could make it worse. Why did Professor Dumbledore even tell the minister, after all we did to stay hidden? But I am not scared. Professor McGonagall is here and she is quite the strategist. She is interested in chess, if I remember it correctly (which I do). 

"In case the Minister failed to inform you about the whole story, Mrs. Umbridge, Sirius Black was found innocent," she answers calmly and smiles. A good way to get Umbridges attention away from me. Smart move. 

"Lies!" Umbridge wails so suddenly and loud that I flinch quite hard - my nerves had really been at the edge - and, out of sheer instinct, reach for my wand in my pocket. The necklace gets tangled in my fingers during the fast move, and all three of us stare in horror as the fragile hourglass flies through the air in slow motion, dashes against the wall, and ends up on the ground. Oh no. 

"Accio Time-Turner!" Professor McGonagall hisses and points her wand at it. The necklace flies into her open hand. Looks like a spell to call objects. I need to look it up later. 

"I guess it is not broken," my teacher says in a friendly tone. "And as Professor Dumbledore stated already, no rules have been broken by my students. They were in the hospital wing all along, and we have witnesses for that. If you would be so kind, Mrs. Umbridge, to hand over the formula that declares the object as given back from Miss Granger? We can discuss any further matters alone." 

"Oh, I don't think Cornelius would be pleased if you all get off the hook that easily, Professor." A smile I can only describe as mean appears on her face. "You are aware, Professor, that the Ministry has knowledge of magic far superior to what you lots teach here?" 

Professor McGonagall and I share a look for a split second. She highly doubts that, and so do I, after all I have seen so far. But Mrs. Umbridge smiles her smile. 

She looks greedy. "You know there are ways to reveal a wand's last spell?" 

"In fact I do. I did a good deal in developing said spell during the war. " Professor McGonagall says coldly. Her tone makes it clear: Miss Umbridge did not fight back then.

Umbridge swallows, but keeps her smile up. "Well, a modification of that spell had been created to find out what a Time-Turner had been used for last." 

I relax. All is well. My gut feeling had told me to make sure we cannot be traced, and I took several turns to do some work as usual after the incident yesterday - sorting through my notes, crossing out to-do-lists, going through my stuff. Usual end of year activities, only for more curses than normal, therefore more time needed. And even though I am going to give up some curses, I hate unfinished business. 

Professor McGonagall sees my face change (I really have to work on a better neutral facade!) and luckily gets to the right conclusion. "If you insist." Professor McGonagall hands it over to the other woman without hesitation. 

Umbridge grabs it out of her hand like a toddler would. "Soon we'll know..." she mutters "if the children really went back in time, I will find out soon enough..." 

Wait. There is a spell that lets you see the last thing done with a wand? And no one bothered to check Sirius' wand, if it had been used to kill all those people twelve years ago? If they didn't want to use Veritaserum? Did they really not care? 

Or maybe, the teachers had developed the spell only after that incident, because they would have needed it then and there? 

"Cornelius must know... he will know...and resolve the Dumbledore situation... for the children's safety, of course..." 

Holy cricket. I doubt that "resolving the Dumbledore situation" would help us "children" at all, especially Harry. Rather contradicting, I would say. But adults always say contradicting things. For example they say that everyone has to be respected, but they also say that respect is for those who deserve it and not those who demand it. At least, that one had been easy to resolve: Everyone is to be treated as respectfully as possible, but not everyone deserved to be respected as an authority. That part has to be earned. I am quite sure this woman does not deserve to be respected as an authority. 

She gets up and points her wand at the Time-Turner. Since I am not dismissed, I stay in my place. She hisses a word at it, and then, everything happens very, very fast. The Time -Turner flies in the air and starts spinning. She casts another spell. Right in the "eye" of the twirling rings it shows schemes of me turning, and then writing lists, going through papers, collecting books.

Umbridge frowns at that. She hits it again with the spell. The turning increases. Still, the same scene, me in the library and the common room. Now she gets angry, turns red like Harry described his uncle getting mad, as if filled up with hot water - and hits it again with the spell, and again, and again. At the third hit, it is pressed so hard by the magic, circling so quick that I can't see the rings any more - and then it is smashes right into my chest. 

  
Pain.   
White light.   
Black. 

The first thing I hear is my own heartbeat. Then a noise in my ears - like wind in the trees. I feel cold stone under me. In me, I feel pain. It feels as if hot grains of sand have burned themselves into my chest, my throat,  
my skin... Sand. Hourglass. Time-Turner. Shit.

I open my eyes. They hurt. Why has no one brought me to the hospital wing? I'm quite sure this is where I should be right now. Maybe, Professor McGonagall is hurt, too? Carefully, I get on my feet. I am all alone in Professor McGonagall's office. It feels wrong. This is no place for a student. Merlin, when something happened to them... 

But there are no traces of an explosion or anything. The only odd thing here is me. I look down on my cleavage. It looks burned. My neck feels burned, as well, and my face. Not good. Really not good. As I move, I hear a metallic sound. The golden necklace falls to the floor. The hourglass is broken, and empty. How does Ron put it so nicely, usually? And now we're really fucked, mates. 

Carefully, I grab the necklace. It's not hot or anything. It feels all normal. But I have a distant feeling that nothing else is normal in the moment. I swallow. Standing here won't help. I need to see Madam Pomfrey. As I get outside and pass a window, I understand why the whole castle is so very quiet - it's nighttime. Why is it nighttime? What did the Time-Turner do to me? I need to move. 

"And who might you be?" I am incredible relieved as I recognize Professor Dumbledore's voice. That's it. This how everything will be explained and all right in minutes. Professor Dumbledore is here. I turn around and feel that weird mixture of beaming and crying appear on my face - so much for the neutral expression. 

But the happy butterflies in my stomach freeze to death under Professor Dumbledore's glare. There is no friendly twinkle behind the half moon glasses. He is standing there, dresses in simple grey robes, no hat, wand pointed at me. And his eyes are cold, so cold, and try to stare at the bottom of my soul. The hair on my arms stands up. I feel the power vibrate on my mere skin as he scans me. Quickly, I look away. This is not Professor Dumbledore, quirky headmaster. This is Albus Dumbledore, the wizard that defeated Grindelwald, the Warden of Hogwarts, and he is ready to do whatever it takes. And I am a threat.

"My name is Hermione Jane Granger, I am a student at Hogwarts from 1991 on. I had an accident with a Time-Turner. We can go check the room with the quill that writes down all the names of the future students, or I drink Veritaserum - whatever it takes, sir, I'll do it, please believe me..." Wow. My tongue totally outruns my mind this time.   
That hadn't happened in years. Usually, I think before I speak. Well, until I'm really in troubles, it appears. Very cool, Granger, very cool. 

But still, my subconscious mind apparently had already added two and two: A Time -Turner exploded on me, and in front of me is a younger, war-ridden Dumbledore, who is ready to hex me into next week and back when he considers me a danger. It's not that hard, after all. Scary? Yes. Almost impossible? Yes. A fully grown catastrophe? Oh yes. But not that hard to guess.

"How do you know about the quill?" Dumbledore asks in this quiet, threatening voice. 

"I read Hogwarts: A History." 

"Did you?" Now, finally, there is amusement in his eyes and he is more like the man I remember. The strong, questioning, dangerous magic softens. 

"That would make you the first student ever, I think. But there is a problem, Miss... Granger. The book notes a student as soon as they are born. When you started Hogwarts in 1991, and you are about 14 years old, as I guess you are - this might come as a shock, my dear, please don't faint - you are not born yet. Lemon drop?" He asks, now all chipper. 

I take the candy, but hold it in my hand instead of eating it. I swallow hard, and focus on my breath until I feel steady again on my feet. To my horror, this is the moment my lunch leaves my stomach, right through the way it came in a few hours ago, many years in the future. 

Really, really fucked.


	2. train tracks always meet, not here, but'

"I need a room to hide her, I need a room to hide her, I need a room to hide her." 

I am hidden under a Disillusionment spell, while Professor Dumbledore does his best to enter one of Hogwarts' secret places, which he calls the Room of Hidden Things. A wooden door appears, and he looks so relieved that it hurts. I want to tell him that I am so, so sorry - but I don't get the chance. 

"Don't worry, Miss Granger. I will be here in a few hours and get you back to where you belong. Until then, I trust you with the rules." 

I am all but pushed in. "No one will see me," I promise towards the closing door. Then, I am alone. He explained it quite well, actually. How everything has to happen the way it will happen, because it already had. Even tough I knew all of it before, it is great to have Professor Dumbledore explain things. He is so calm, so smart, and able to put complicated facts into simple words. 

I think he was an amazing teacher back in his active years. I wonder why he stopped teaching. He probably could make room for some hours if he wanted? Maybe it was the war, and after all the losses he didn't want to do it any more. Maybe someone got killed because of something he taught? 

There is a thing about magic most purebloods don't understand - there are dark and evil spells, created to hurt and destroy, but there are also spells considered as light and useful that can do a lot of harm, if anyone cared to think about them again. Something very simple, like magically folding socks, could turn out to be quite cruel when you still wear said socks. 

I'm glad people don't think this way, and I will definitely not share this idea, but of course, a mind like Dumbledore's would be able to turn a thought in his head long enough to twist it...

Then, finally, the large room cannot be ignored any more. I am all alone in here, in an unknown space full of magical items, and should not get lost in my head like this.

I breathe. It's fine. It makes sense. There are reasons for the rule that a time-traveler must not be seen. Step on a bug, destroy humanity, the old story. On the other hand, time is a fixed construct. Whatever will happen now will already have happened in my time. It's complicated, and right now it is absolutely terrifying: The sheer possibility that my arrival here may have set up some horrible tragedy in the future (everything is possible!) is almost too hard to stand. 

I know that it wasn't my fault, and I hope that I made all the right choices up to now, but still. How could I ever look in the mirror again, if, for example, my arrival here inspired Professor Quirrel to go on an adventure in Albania? 

Right now, about 80% of my inner monologue is just "keep calm", yelled in a high-pitched panic voice. I do recon the irony, but still, it's the only thing that prevents me from running away screaming. Just Dumbledore knowing that Hogwarts does still exist, with himself as a headmaster, in my time might have changed something already. This is why I need to stay low until he has found a way to get me back home. Home.. _no._ More interesting things to think about.

For example, one of his amazing powers becomes a weakness now: Professor Dumbledore is actually able to read minds (I knew it!). It is called Legilimency, and only a handful of people master it at all, he explained. Unless a person is able to perform the counter-magic for it, Occlumency, the mind is open for reading. A scary, but very exciting, thing. Problem is that even though he is highly trained to not accidentally read minds (and find out something he really should not know in my case), even he can _slip._

He said it is like reading a very good book and your eyes accidentally wander to the end of the page and there is that big, terrible spoiler. This is how he explained it to me. And oh, I know that one. How the muggles put it - the struggle is real. 

This is why I'm hiding until he has figured out how the Time -Turner did bring me here in the first place, and how to get me back. He hopes that he'll be done in a few hours. I hope so, too. He healed the burns very well - I didn't expect any less from a wizard like him - summoned me some food, and was more like his usual self. Still, I cannot forget how scared I was when the power radiated around him...

He didn't tell me exactly where I landed (sorry, when) but it was a clear jump in years. It is still the end of term, and the castle is all empty. 

The room, on the other hand, is not empty. It is really huge, and full of stuff people want to hide. Broken tools, broken equipment, half-burned books (ouch), a birdcage, several cabinets, furniture - traces of mischief, collected in decades. But mostly, piles and piles of books. Centuries. Centuries of stuff people were not supposed to have. Maybe, when someone would care to dig deep enough, they would find broken things students from the founding days had hidden.

The room has huge windows somewhere in the back, and the morning light starts to flood in, making the dancing dust beautiful. I have to admit that I am fascinated by the atmosphere and aesthetic. Everything here is fallen out of time, just like me. It has this used bookstore or antiques shop feeling, a sepia colored wistfullness, lonely steps echoing under high ceilings. I'm starting to actually become calm enough that the voice in my head can stop screaming about it. Spending a few hours here isn't that bad at all. 

Since the stuff will be as it is in my time, anything I might change in here will already be changed without doing harm - time travel logic still feels like a knot in my brain. But Professor Dumbledore, who can unwind the knot in his own brain without further troubles, told me to do as I please in here. Stuff hardly has a will of it's own that could be changed by my presence, therefore this room is as safe as it gets right now for me and the future and the fabric of time itself. No pressure, though. 

Suddenly, I am incredibly tired. I think no person has ever had this kind of jetlag before. More than fourteen years, since I am not born yet. Around the very first corner, I see an old blue couch with some huge burning marks on it. Ravenclaw experimenting gone wrong. Some careful Reparos later and it looks trustworthy again. In a cupboard I find several blankets someone tried to recolor with magic. Now they look like batik gone wild, but they will do. I use my robes as pillow, and with the wand next to me, I fall asleep very quicker than I thought I would, given the strange place and situation I am in... 

This time, waking up is way more pleasant. My skin doesn't hurt any more, and I am not laying on the cold ground. My mom is not a morning person, she is barely aware of her surroundings before two huge mugs of coffee - dad and me, on the other hand, are fully there once we open our eyes. So there is no confusion of where I am, and why. The room is filled with daylight now. It's late in the evening. I hope Professor Dumbledore found out what happened already. I told him all I know about the possible crack of the hourglass and the spell used by that Umbridge woman. Once I'm back I will tell her a thing or two about fudging around with other people's magic...! 

I only hope that Professor McGonagall has already developed the Revealing spell Umbridge abused, or we will face the first real problem here. Or maybe it isn't the problem but the solution, and my appearance here is what sets off the spell's creation in the beginning. I wonder how long it takes to develop a spell, so we, or they, can start to find out why and how it backfired. 

Professor Dumbledore told me to handle the things I might find in here with care, but apart from that to move free as I like. In lack of anything better to do, and to stop the voice in my head from screaming again, I browse the first pile of books I see. Most of them are school books, some are very pink romance novels I understand why someone wanted to hide far, far away from other eyes that could see them, some a are clearly diaries. I keep away from the diaries. Ginny's horrible experience still sticks with me. You-know-who in a book, of all things. I still feel personally offended about that.

Anyway. Books. Piles and piles of books. Books they don't sell to people my age. Staying in here is really not that bad. I pull out a DADA book for fourth graders - my slip in the last exam is still nagging on me - and snuggle up on the couch. 

When I look up again, the daylight has almost vanished. Professor Dumbledore is still not here. He is probably waiting for nightfall to sneak out, or the room only opens at night. I'm getting hungry, but right now there is nothing I can do about that. Gamp's Law is still, well, law: You cannot create food. Instead I decide to go find a lamp, so I don't have to hold my wand with Lumos on all the time. Yes, I'm lazy when no one can see it.

A broken oil lamp sits waiting, not so far away. I wonder who brought it here, since all it needs is some glass repair and an oil refill. Probably a scared first-grader with no skills yet, afraid to be punished. The lamp is rather pretty. I take my time to clean it by hand with a part of one of the blankets, to pass the hours. Once done, I pull over a wooden chair to the couch, put the lamp on it, and keep reading. Next year is going to be a blaze, when we all get someone competent enough to follow the book! Real dueling! 

The wooden door opens a few hours later. Immediately I turn out the lamp and go into hiding. Could be anyone. 

“Miss Granger?" It is Professor Dumbledore. He brings me a sandwich, a huge carafe of pumpkin juice, and bad news. He has absolutely nothing. No information about the spell, the broken hourglass, decade-long time travel. When he tells me, an ice-cold hand grabs my throat and starts pressing. When Dumbledore doesn't know...? 

Keep calm, Hermione. Keep calm. Keep _calm. He doesn't know yet. Yet, that is the important part. Research, good research, takes time. And he had to get this right, or you might up anywhere. Anywhen. He has to take his time_. Lucky enough, I have got plenty of that. 

"It is a lot to ask, Miss Granger, but I need you to stay in this room until I solved the problem, if you can stand it. I will be completely honest with you: It may take days. Weeks, even. But I consider your safe return a high priority, maybe the highest right now. So, can you manage to stay here in hiding until I will be successful?" He smiles at me, and it is an expecting smile.

So, can I manage?

And here it is again, a terrible choice an adult let's you make, says that asshole voice inside of me.

No, wait, it's worse. It is not even a choice. It is a manipulation. Because you are a brave strong emancipated Gryffindor, and you have to say yes, and when you start feeling like shit you got only yourself to blame. He's got you on checkmate, girl. 

No, I tell my traitor heart. Get yourself together. This is Professor Dumbledore, after all! He has very good reasons to keep me out of harms way and from accidentally causing trouble, and he does his very best to solve the situation. If there is someone at all who can help me, it's him. Maybe it will take a week or two, but no one has to suffer. He will return me to my proper timeline. 

Maybe I will be a few weeks older, but who cares? No one will even notice that I'm gone, because technically, I will not have been away. All is fine. Keep calm, Hermione.

I mull it over. I take my time. It is a choice. 

He waits, smiling, twirling the end of his beard around his fingertips.

This is a large, interesting room I can explore and move freely in, I can read, practice, sing out loud, even learn to pirouette on a pile of books, naked. I have to grin on that odd thought. At least, this time I won't be petrified for weeks, with a fully awake mind.

Professor Dumbledore in my time has helped us all to get rid of these memories. They are now sitting in his office in pretty glass flasks. I remember frustration, bottomless despair, wild power fantasies. I have only a few moments - and I am the only one of the petrified students that wanted to keep some at all. But the experience is part of my story. To dismiss it entirely would be cheating. I don't cheat. And I don't chicken out from a challenge when it is necessary, even if it means isolation. 

And how hard can it be? I wished to be alone in the dorm for almost every day in the last years. Now, I get my alone time, loads of it. Nothing to worry about.

"I can manage, sir," I say with the best smile I can get out. 

"I am sure you can, Hermione." Him using my first name, as he does with Harry, is my instant reward. Looks like I'm on friendly terms with Albus friggin' Dumbledore. "Also, I would like you to look into this, so I can visit more frequently." He hands me a thin book on Occlumency. 

I beam at him so eagerly that I almost feel stupid because of it. But it means he trusts me with that highly complicated magic, that he wants to talk to me, include me in the solution, that he, Professor Dumbledore himself, might even teach me...! 

"Of course you will be cared for." He puts a silver plate to the chair next to my couch camp. "The kitchen will be providing you with food at every regular meal. If you want something special, just write a small note and place it there. It will be taken care of." 

"Thank you, sir, but the regular meals are just fine with me. I don't want to bother anyone."

He looks at me curiously now, but doesn't ask. "Also, I think I spottet a very tiny bathroom over there. Reminds me of the first time I looked for this room. I found a whole lot of chamber pots instead of this mess. Ah, this miraculous castle!" With a friendly nod, he leaves me alone. 

Once he is gone, I almost jump to the sofa, clenching the book. Instead of crying away the heavy lump in my throat, I read the whole thing in one go, and fall asleep with red eyes somewhat around 4 in the morning. As soon as I wake up, I read it again. A plate of food has appeared next to my bed, toast, eggs, ham. I eat the toast without paying much attention to it. Now I read the thin book slowly and carefully, and as the afternoon comes, I am completely and utterly frustrated. I mean, I'm quite an autodidact. But this does actually require a teacher, not some second-class meditation guide for the bored housewife.

Empty your mind... Let go of everything heavy and sad... Push aside troubles and worries... An empty mind allows thoughts to flow through but leaves nothing to investigate for an intruder... Store your valuable memories behind a softly flowing river... If they tell me next that positive thinking is the key to a successful life I am going to vomit.

Thinking is the key. Honest, hard, sharp, careful thinking. Jumping into a Devils Snare, armed only with a positive attitude does, in fact, kill you. Staring into a basilisks eyes with a positive attitude does, in fact, kill you. Meeting a werewolf... Well, we all get the picture, don't we? (Who is we? I'm all alone.) Realism is the key, and Occlumency sounds as legit as Deviation right now. Still, Professor Dumbledore thinks it is worth learning. I grind my teeth. How?! 

So this is it?, asks the voice in my mind, menacing. The moment all of them, even your friends, have been waiting for all along, secretly? The one assignment that breaks Hermione Granger? 

I am not so sure anymore that the voice is really the devil on the shoulder. Maybe it has a point. But I won't break. I'll do what I always do. I will wrap my mind around it, clench my teeth into it and rip it apart to the tiniest bits, until I find one to start with. Even if it is small, there is a lioness in me. The hat said so. And who am I to disregard speaking headgear?

For a while, I work on a wordplay with lioness and loneliness, but I dismiss it soon. Too depressing. I get up, stretch, find a piece of pie on the plate and munch it as I start my first round through the Room of Hidden Things. I carry the book in my pocket. Walking clears the mind, and here is a lot of _room_ to do just this. Suddenly I have to smile: Taking a turn around the room. How very Pride and Prejudice of me. There is a reason my middle name is Jane. I wonder if my mum is disappointed that I did not present her with an epic love story yet, but there is time. 

Time... of course. This is why I struggle so hard to wrap my mind around the concept of the floating thoughts. The timing is wrong. I just finished finals. Even though I handle them as a marathon, not a sprint, a marathon wears you out just as much. And during the last weeks I have been digging my thoughts into the learning material as if they were claws, the exact opposite of gentle rivers. I need a break, that's all. If things were normal, I would be home now, watch my parent's favorite movie with them (Back to the Future - oh, the irony) and in a few days we would be off to hike in the forest of Dean. It's lovely there, trees and a campfire and stars, our old tent, a lamp inside... 

That's it. The room is so huge it's easy to feel lost. People need camps, a place to come home to. That's just how a human mind works, the environment plays as much as a role as intelligence. Pyramid of needs, anyone? So now I have a goal for today. I circle the whole room until I reach the door again, and the couch from there. There is a place I liked near the windows, tree-high piles of books, a lot of globes. I go back there and ram an imaginary flag into the ground. This spot is taken now. 

Okay, how did that call spell go? "Accio couch," I try. Nothing. Okay, no problem. First try. Professor McGonagall pointed at the Time-Turner. She saw it. Maybe that's the trick. 

It takes me shockingly long to figure out that Accio does not work in this room. But in the end, it makes sense, of course. A room of hidden things would not be much of a hideout if you could just call on an object and have it fly to you. So, I have to manually find everything I want in my camp. Luckily enough, other magic works fine in here, and I just use Wingardium Leviosa to move the couch, blankets and chair to my temporary home. I carry the lamp manually. 

Turning one of the blankets into a tent is not that hard. There are only five things you can't create with a wand, according to Gamp : Food, money, eternal life, love, and healing from several dark curses. The rest can be transfigured, created, invented. A huge field to play with. And the closer your original material is to your desired material, the easier it gets. Even if you need to change the way you think. A pincushion and a hedgehog are, for example, close, in that logic. 

Using magic is re-learning how to think, how to see and understand the world, how to perceive your surroundings, basically. A giant puzzle that the pureblood children do not even notice, since they are born into it. But I like the fact that I learned the muggle world first. It's way more interesting that way 'round. Kind of, Picasso wanting to draw like a child again, and creating something amazing in the process. 

So, turning a blanket to an outdated tent made of bright linen is easy. Making the couch larger and softer is easy, too. I saw a huge double bed before, but this would be way over the top. I get a pillow from it, though, and wonder what princess on a pea needs three mattresses. 

As I start to collect tea cups, I understand that I actively procrastinate Occlumency. Well, I guess, I can get away with a few more hours without it. I stare at the cups I found. They look as if they belonged to a cute grandma, or the cup merry-go-round at Disney. Hm... well... why not. Absurd ideas have never been lost on me, unless they cross a certain line (caugh, wackenspurts, caugh). I find things that are a little out of place rather amusing, like flames in a mason jar. 

"Engorgio," I whisper and wave my wand to the mug. It starts to grow, grow, grow, until I would fit into it comfortably. Luckily enough, Gamp's law isn't for water. As I bath in the mug hot tub and enjoy the lake view, I feel myself relax for the first time in months. Harry is safe, Ron is speaking to me again, finals are over, we saved Sirius. Okay, I got lost in time, but I got Professor Dumbledore on my side. It could be way, way worse right now. 

Still, it is wearing me out a little. I wonder if this is how Professor Lupin got the idea for that map Harry has - alone for hours in the hospital wing, disconnected, it could have been much of a consolation... at least see where his friends were... I have another idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments! :)  
> So, part one in isolation for out dear Hermione. Just keep busy, won't be so long, huh?


	3. only in the impossible mind's eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was unsure about continuing this, and engaging with the material at all after the recent Twitter incidents, but you know what? This world is ours. It has been ours for a long, long time. She is not profiting from fanfic. 
> 
> Trans women are women, Trans men are men, Trans people are valid and deserving of respect. My love for and engagemeng with the story and characters says nothing about the author.

***

The longer I stare through that window, the worse it gets, up to the point where I want to smash my head against a wall until this room and the lake fade out for good. The students outside (yes, summer is over already, yes, I am still here) flooding the grounds are bringing back my memories in every unguarded second.

I keep seeing familiar traits in them, Neville's posture, a dream-walker like Luna, red hair, a slim boy on a broomstick. I know that I what I see is not possible. I am here, they are far away in the future, yet I keep seeing them. Whenever I find spare parchment, I write them letters. They are starting to pile. I catch myself staring at that pile way too often. I will, of course, destroy them before I leave. I cannot leave a single trace.

While I sit here in that room and watch from the sidelines, life goes on in Hogwarts. Academics isn't going as smooth as usually. The structure of lessons, homework, eating, sleeping is blurred by the lack of lessons. I have started to pick up random books, go through them, and start a new pile around the camp when they seem to be remotely interesting. They give me equal amounts of comfort and guilt.

It is too much to learn, too many possibilities, in an unknown amount of time. Will I stay one more week or one more year? Should I enjoy being idle, or will I regret wasting my time with the half-burned book for NEWT level ward rune magic? It's from the 60's - looks like the wizard world had their hippie years, too. It sparked my interest because it is from the same author as the Occlumency book, and I was looking for overlaps. Instead I got lot about the hidden meanings of ancient ward runes and how they speak to the magical core, and a headache.

The only person I have talked to is the headmaster. He comes in every three or four days. He thinks I'm doing okay with Occlumency. In lack of other ideas, I came down to actually imagine my memories floating away before I talk to him. It seems to work well enough that he can talk to me for five, sometimes even ten minutes, but once I get excited about something it all goes down really quickly, and he leaves as if Fluffy himself is after him.

I still struggle to re-think for that task. Emotions are an extremely valid part of human psychology, dismissing them can have horrible consequences. I read plenty on that, and I see it first hand on Harry each time he tries to deal with his problems all alone. Not so funny to be around him, then, more like a nice game of hit the pot in a mine field.

Still, there has to be a healthy, smart way to get this Occlumency thing rowling for me. There must be, if I ever want a conversation longer than "Sorry, nothing yet" in my life.

And I really, really do want that conversation. As interesting as my inner monologue is, I am getting on my own nerves in a never-known intensity. I haven't seen another person than him for roughly two months, and of course no one has touched me. No hugs, no gentle pat on the shoulder, no pull on a hairstrand, no elbow poking. Weird how much I miss this, the casual connections. When I'm back, I will hug Harry for a month straight, and then Ron.

There are no paintings in here, only empty, broken frames, but several mirrors. One showed me exactly that, me with Harrys and Rons bony arms wrapped around my shoulders. I hexed a blanket over that one as quickly as I could and hid it in a dark corner full of spiders. Haven't looked at it since. _Don't trust anything that thinks for itself when you cannot see where it has it's brain._ I got that. Really, I did. And after Harry's story about the Mirror of Erised I am definitely sure that I don't want to have that problem on top of everything.

I am lost enough already.

After six weeks of begging, Professor Dumbledore presented me a Daily Prophet with his sad headshake. I am both happy and completely in shock when I see the date: 1975.

I immediately understood why the Professor did not want me to know. It is... too much. Harry's parents, Sirius, Professor Lupin - everyone is here right now. As students. I am in the Marauders Era - that's what they called themselves, according to Harry, and I find it strangely endearing. And not at all fitting for a professor, a criminal, a rat and a war victim.

But aren't they all war victims, in their own sad way? Well, if they aren't yet, they will be soon. The paper is full of dark signs, of Death Eater reports and people gone missing, but also full of weddings and babies born. As if all the people are trying to enjoy their lives as much as possible. Everyone but me, in the eternal silence of the Room of Hidden Things.

Thoughts about all kinds of horrible outcomes are nagging on me and keeping me from sleep. What if, because of some reason, it could be my fault that Harry will lose his parents? What if I get noticed by, let's say, Peter Pettigrew and somehow scare him so much that he turns dark? What if? And do my choices even have a meaning at all?

Everything in my time is at is is, just as it had been with Buckbeak and Sirius (we never saw them being killed, right?), so can I destroy something at all that isn't meant to be destroyed? Or is it, in the end, not even true? Can time be rewritten, and it is just not known, because - well, how could you ever figure it out?

Did people do it before and just never told someone? Mighty, smart, or just really desperate people? When all possible outcomes of any situation exist at the same time in the multiverse, do they maybe, in fact, exist here? I have started chewing my nails again.

To keep my mind away from that, I started to keep almost violently busy with anything I can think of. Studying, writing, exploring, mapping out the room. It's an octagon, and I drew it on the backside of an old Quidditch poster. I explore the grid squares one after the other, taking notes, adding hints and objects.

Yes, it is a cheap knock-off from Harry's map. But they were four, and I am one, and I don't need it to show people. There are no people other than me.

Also, this mess of a place gets easier to navigate in time, and I start to find more interesting stuff when I look with a plan. I'm not like Harry, I don't easily notice things others don't. But I remember things well, and I start to find my way around. My camp has become quite elaborate, now when I think about it. I even found a target in here (who wanted to practice archery at Hogwarts at the first place? That's insane!) I can practice duel spells with.

Of course I would prefer a teacher to show me, correct my pose, encourage me, or even sneer at me to push me through it. Of course I don't have one, so I have gotten quite good at sneering.

At least, the Disillusionment charm starts to work out really well. When I first started with it, on my third day here, it was more like a chameleon effect - I was blending in with my surroundings. But the more I trained, the better it got. How I know that? Because right now, I am staring in a mirror of a pittoresque dressing table. And I see almost nothing. Maybe I should say, I am staring _at_ a mirror. A plain, silvery, smooth surface, unbroken by a human face. Is this a paradox already? Is a mirror a mirror if it shows nothing?

Suddenly, the idea of being nothing becomes scary. Quickly I move, to see the silvery gleam around my silhouette. I am almost invisible. Yet, I am still here. I lay my hands on my own shoulders just to feel their weight. Yet, it is an accomplishment. Even better than the cloak, since you don't need to be scared of accidental exposure. I stare at the empty mirror, and suddenly I am full of hope for the nearer future. I must not be seen, eh?

I am so eager to show Professor Dumbledore that I can't sit still. I wander around the room, go to the windows, pull my hair. With that, I could get out, sneak into classes, see other people... When it is two in the morning, I understand that he is not coming. Maybe because the newspaper complete screwed with my already weak and shaky Occlumency.

Suddenly, it makes me too nervous to be invisible. At least, I want to be able to see myself. I wander to the dressing table and take the oil lamp with me. I am not afraid of the dark, have never been, but the whole point of my nighty stroll is to see myself. Maybe I should bring the table to the tent, even if it is pretty girly...

The Disillusionment leaves my body softy, and I take a moment to take a closer look at myself. No, this is not relieve I am feeling. That would be silly, right? I am just curious. My face is skinnier. Not that I am short on food, the kitchen provides me with more than enough. But often, I'm not really hungry. My sleep rhythm is messed up, too, and I skip breakfast so often my mum would be worried sick. It starts to show. Also, my hair is even more of a mess than usually. I need a better brush than the wooden comb I managed to change an old fork into. I open one of the drawers. Some glow-in-the-dark-moths fly out (they are everywhere), but there is no brush. Only a box full of Harriet Mangolds Magical Hold-All Hairpins. I take the box and turn it around in my hands. Ten galleons - a fortune for stupid stuff like that.

I stare at the hairpins and wonder if I should try to do the chignon that my mum taught me some years ago. I decide to not give it a go. I like my hair open. I like it that its bushy and wild and untamable, I like how it feels on my shoulders and that I can hide my face in it. I also liked how uncomfortable it made Parvati and Lavender, at first. They knew how to hex each other's wake up frizzle into shimmering cascades floating down their shoulders before they knew how to let a feather fly.

By then, I was sure it was brave to show them how much I didn't care about my or their looks. Now I think it would have been even braver to just ask them for help. 

But I guess it's way too late for that now. Three years of ignoring each other can hardly be undone, can they? And I got the boys. I don't need anyone else, and to be true, I never really know what to say to other girls. A general problem - I hardly know how to chitchat. So I end up saying stuff I read and annoy the hell out of everyone, except for the boys, maybe. It's almost funny that I ended up being the oddball at a magic school, too.

It's like the G for GEEK is written all over my face, wherever I go I take it with me. _Granger-Geek, Granger-Freak, geeky freaky beaver teeth -_ I still hear the kids sing in my head, and the longer I am in this silent place, the louder they get.

No, says the rational part of my brain. Shut up, memories. You don't need a bunch of nine year old assholes now, 'mione, you need to focus.

I need to focus on the next chapter of DADA, so I push the memory away and go home. Oops. To camp. The camp is not home. Two whole pages in, I finally understand what I just did: I pushed the memory away.

I know that I dealt with it already, talked it over with my mum back then, had her explain to me once more that the other kids didn't really understand what they were doing. It was just a silly song to them, a joke to see my reaction. The frequency of these incidents should have made my reaction quite foreseeable, but they didn't care for that, either.

It wasn't really about me, it was about the fun of rotting together and circling someone, a prove of their alike-ness by pointing out my otherness. Natural. Human. A part of their development. Unlike the mudblood incident, I shrugged it off back then, as part of _my_ development, my coming of age. My overcoming of obstacles.

And now that I don't really care any more about my muggle classmates from almost six years ago, I can just let it go.

And that's it. That's Occlumency.

Not chopping off emotions. No forced positivity. Just push away memories and feelings for a while, to get back a clear head, a clear focus. Shrug it off, deal with it later, or file it as dealt with. Shocked, I let myself fall flat on my back on my couch-bed. I have been using Occlumency, or something similar, for years without knowing, when studying had been more important than anything else. Wow.

I even enjoyed it. I always liked the excited silence in my head, when all the wild-flowing ideas shut up for a moment to focus on something specific. I take deep breaths, and start to shrug it off: The shock off the seventies, the loneliness, the twirling memories from last year. My mind is just like this room in the moment, mountains of crap. Not an environment that is good for studying; a nice place to stroll, but not at all efficient.

And I am Hermione Jane Efficient Granger. I can do better. I could do better at eleven, for Merlin's sake, when I solved Snapes puzzle in the room with the flames.

So I shovel it all away, mentally, and search for the radiant focus I sometimes get when I work on a really difficult problem. I overheard my parents some years ago when they remembered their university years, calling it the work flow. This is what I'm searching for. The work flow, the focused mind, relaxed and open, when the best results are achieved. The river the book was talking about, I am sure this is it...

Twenty minutes later, the door opens, I hear steps, and Professor Dumbledore enters my tent. "I am sorry to drop by at this late hour," he says cheeringly "but your amazingly brilliant thoughts finally stopped leaking out the door."

"Oh no... sir, I am so sorry..."

"No harm done, Hermione. I didn't see anything, but now I see that you are very much on your way to master the skills of Occlumency. Rather quick, if you allow the compliment."

"I - thank you, sir." To keep the flow going, I don't dwell on it. "I have something else to show you, sir." I sit up straight, pull my wand - oh, I wanted a chance to show him what I can do ever since - no, stopp, Hermione. No memories now. Keep the flow. I Disillusion myself, until I am almost perfectly invisible.

"Oh, very well done! Almost perfect, Hermione."

Invisibly, I beam at him.

"I am glad you put your time to good use. I also have news for you. Minerva just informed me today that she had a very interesting idea concerning a nice little piece of magic that may reproduce a shadow of a wand's last spell."

"Oh, sir, these are amazing news! But sir..."

"Yes, dear?" Professor Dumbledore encourages me. I have thought it over and over again. In the end, I decided that to save my remaining sanity, I need to keep believing in the Fixed Timeline theory, that everything will be as it is in my time despite or because whatever happens now. Maybe it is not necessary for me to suffer here alone forever.

So, I present my idea to him. "Sir, I was wondering... since I want to continue putting my time to good use... I was wondering if I could participate in classes, sir. Disillusioned, of course."

Please please please please please...

"Hermione, I am afraid this is not possible. If anybody at Hogwarts just gets a single glimpse of you.."

"The spell -"

"The spell wears off in time," he interrupts me. "Also, some of the staff can see through it. We are at the edge of war, Hermione, and having you stroll around the castle would not only endanger you, but everyone else, and if you were seen, questions concerning our security would rise."

I nod. I have, of course, thought this over as well. But I am so tired of being alone. I feel so bad. I never believed I would have such a hard time because of that. But there is a difference between being lonely and being completely alone. I can deal with lonely. Every geek can, probably. We learn it early on. Buy completely and utterly alone just sucks the life out of you.

"There are other schools," I plead and cannot really manage to keep out the desperation. I miss out so much, I fall so far behind. "Beauxbatons, or Ilvernmorny. If you arrange something, sir..."

"Our enemy has ears everywhere. I am sorry, but you have to remain here until I can bring you back. Your feet cannot touch the ground of the castle anywhere outside this room. Keep up the good work, Hermione. I'm counting on you to be responsible, but considering the fact that you were entrusted with a Time-Turner at all shows me that I need not worry about it." He gives me a Stern almost disapproving look.

"Sir! Please!" I jump to my feet as my focus breaks, and the feelings - the sharp sting of missing my friends and family, the debilitating slowly passing days, the damn SILENCE in here - flood back to the surface. I reach out, maybe to grab his arm, maybe to storm the wooden door. But he shakes his head sadly, leaves, and I sink to the floor, sobbing.

After a while, my rationality comes out of it's state of shock. It has been lost in the crap of my mind for a while, but when I cleaned up first, it stuck it's head out from under the bed. Metaphorically, of course. And now, in my darkest hour, it comes to share it's wisdom: _You are on the floor, sobbing. It's pathetic._

Yes. Well, after all, I'm right. And I pick myself up again, even if it's only to go to bed. When I awake the next morning, armes clutched around my own chest, still shaken from my old nightmares of being petrified, I decide that this has to stop. I need to change something.

I get up, ignore the pile of books and the plate with breakfast, and start my stroll. It feels pointless, and so slow. Out of nothing, I start to run. I run as if I'm hunted. I only make half the circle around the room until my lungs scream and my sides are burning. Still, it is a difference. I am hurting, which means I am still here. I am not a bodiless ghost. I have a body, and it is miserable. But it's here. I am still here.

I don't see Professor Dumbledore for six days. After seven dead silent days, where the only human face is see is my own in the splintered mirror of the dressing table, I hate it so much I want to claw my skin off. Instead, I do that chignon. I ram in the magical bobby pins so violently that I can actually feel the hair being damaged. I don't care. Once the hair is out of my face I feel a little better. Lighter.

Next step is to shrink these teeth. So long, beaver. It is tricky and I have to be highly alerted, but hey, after all it's me we talk about. I will tell my parents some story about a hex going wrong. There is an ugly one that makes teeth grow. Any Slytherin could, or would, have used it on me if they got a chance. They always find a chance to hex the mudblood.

"Mud on your face, big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place," I say to my face in the mirror. My voice gets lost in the big room. Also, it's not the voice I am used to. It's more quiet and a little throaty. I don't use the muscles enough...

I stare at my reflection, stare myself down without blinking. I go into Occlumency without finding it hard this time. Just push it away. It feels good to push it away. I feel less caged when my mind it clear, it's just like stepping outside into the sunlight after taking the last exam. Since I found out how much I like that feeling, I do it a lot. Maybe it's just an escape, but it's the only escape I have right now.

I watch my face become distant, smooth, almost aloof, as I focus. It's the way Professor Snape looks when he isn't sneering - oh. Oh. But that's a question for another day.

I take up a routine again. I find an old alarm clock that has been charmed to turn backwards. With one of the books from the pile in my tent, I manage to reverse the spell at the second try. Now, I get up at seven, run as many times around the room as I can to get my head clear, jump in the bath mug, and practice Occlumency while my hair dries naturally in the daylight. I study for the day, and around five I wander the room and continue working on the map. I go to bed at ten. My world has become so small. I move the furniture around until I wake up with the sun in my face, and follow the beams of light like a house cat would. The world is clear when it is small, I keep telling myself. A solid, controlled day, but after three more weeks, the routine cracks.

I wander more and study less. I can run for longer, now. I found a rhythm of steps and breath, and it starts to get boring. So, I add jumping. I jump over small piles of books, over benches, and when I feel secure, even on furniture. I don't know why, but it helps. I feel my muscles, I feel my feet hitting the hard ground. I am still here.

The little voice in my head has become really obnoxious. It keeps using words I could have never used back in my time, not when Professor Dumbledore is involved. It says forlorn, forgotten, forbidden - betrayed.

Dumbledore makes himself scarce, and I keep busy with collecting books and other stuff I find interesting. The gramophone is most frustrating. I brought it to my tent weeks ago, but I just don't know how to fix it. When I return from the first time I managed to run three full rounds through the whole room, it stares at me in silent triumph. I'm still in a runner's high, and suddenly I am mad as hell at the thing. "Reparo finally, shithead!" I hiss at it and wave my wand way too careless.

The needle jumps to the vinyl as if I scared it, and a moment later, I hear real music. For the first time in forever. Music. It is so good it makes me cry. Again, for the umpteenth time this week. But I cry to music and the tears fade. So much for the exact and delicate art of -wand magic, I think. Sometimes it is really just point and yell. As I dance through my tent to some crappy old rock tune I wouldn't like normally, I put music records on top of my list of stuff to find.

And in the next days, I do find stuff. So much of it that after while, I am sick of carrying it all around. Why doesn't the stupid Accio charm work here? I remember the thrust cars from the London Magic Library (once I graduated I might work there, or just live in it) that float behind you, and decide to create something like that myself. Why not? It's useful and I got nothing better to do. A broken shelf is found quickly, and I work out a combination of spells. Wingardium Leviosa for controlled movements, a simple Hover Charm to keep it in the air, a Duration Spell to ensure that it's not falling out of the air. A durable Inanimatus Conjurous so it follows me around.

The part where it comes closer and moves away by a wave of hand (not wand!) is more tricky, but I have seen several people do it before, and finally find something in 100 Tricks for Seductive Suppers That Will Definitely Get You His Attention. Never judge a book by it's target audience. The shelf has four boards of wood, which is good. The first board breaks, the second floats up to the roof, but the third one is a success. Nice. Very nice.

I make it follow me around immediately and wander the room once again. When I reach my favorite window, the board hovers behind me and I lean my elbows on it for a short break. Then, it hits me. What I've done. I have created a hoverboard. Just like the one from Back to the Future. If dad knew, he would cry tears of joy. Now I have no other chance: I have to learn how to fly on it.

Brooms and me never went well, but if I stay as close to the ground as a skateboard would, this could actually be fun. Fun. Yes. I do deserve fun, right? As quick as I can, I run back around four piles of books, a red cabinet, and two globes. There it is, the very outdated double bed with three mattresses each. I break in sweat as I pull the heavy mattresses on the ground. The bed looks strange without them. Naked.

_You really got to stop feeling sorry for objects, Mione. You need to focus._

I do it the way I prefer things to be done: Step by step, founded on a logical plan. That means, first of all, I make my board hover above the mattresses as deep as possible, and just stand on it. Or, to be honest: I try to stand. I fall to the softened ground so often that I start to wonder if I got any talent for sports at all. But I got the hang of the running and jumping, so why not give balancing a try? I've got all the time in the world right now, since nothing happens in the matter of my accident. But I don't want to get sad about it now.

In the end, it takes me three days. Three days of stumbling, of shivering knees, of falling, of overly sore muscles. But when the light of the fourth day rises over the mattresses, I - finally - stand, arms outstretched, weight on my balls of foot, hovering half a meter over the ground. I feel that I start to smile, to grin, to laugh until my face hurts. With the slightest movement of hand, I make the board float forwards. And promptly, hardly and unavoidably land on my back, still laughing.

The rest is a stroll in the park, compared to working out the basics. The best part of a plan is when all the tiny pieces start to work out. I use my board like a muggle surfer kneeing on it and paddling on the waves to get the hang on the hand steering, and in the end, I stand on it like a real surfer, pushing it forwards and around with gestures, and do the rest with my body. I lean in, I let it go slower or quicker, I make it turn. The fear of heights that almost made me vomit on a broomstick is under control when I have my feet safely on a hard surface. My stomach still flutters, but in time, I will get used to it. People can get used to almost anything in time. And, well, I've got time.

This is nothing I would have ever considered doing in my real timeline. The energy it takes, the feeling that I would come off as a total bragging prick to anyone watching me, the skills of body, the danger of falling, crashing, getting hurt - I would have considered it all a big damn waste of time, potential, skill. But here, in the Room of Hidden Things that has become my whole world, nothing of this matters. For the first time in what feels like forever, I can allow myself to play.

Also, it helps me to discover more of the room. I hover through it, look at the very tops of piled things, wonder how anyone could have gotten the stuff up here. _Magic, probably, 'Mione_.

I finally find a set of robes, a big brush, and a stack of comic books that make me laugh so hard I almost fall off my board to the mercilessly hard ground just by reading the title: Rise of the Silver Surfer. In the next two weeks, I basically live on that board. I sit on it with my legs crosses under me, hovering over the bed, reading. I make my adrenalin rise by dangling the legs down, as if I sat on a swing. I hover around the place until my core muscles hurt so bad from the constant contraction that I need to lay down in fetal position for some hours. And then I start to run again, run and jump and run, and bring the board under my feet in the jump. I train that until I get a good grip every time, I train on it despite skinned knees and leg cramps. I map out a route, getting faster every time, feel the adrenalin, the fear in my stomach, my sour muscles, the music in the background, and the control I got over that piece of wood - and for the first time since my accident, I feel happy.


	4. horizons beat a retreat as we embark

Two days after my best flight so far,  
Professor Dumbledore honors me with another visit. I hover behind his back, Disillusionment on, a little over his head, for a whole full minute, until he says: "This time you have outdone yourself in hiding, Miss Granger." 

"Thank you, sir," I say quietly. I wanted to say it very confidently, but after being silent for some days, my voice fails me. But I can't help but grin when I notice that Headmaster Albus Percifal Brian Wulfric Dumbledore jumps, ever so slightly, in surprise.

I make myself visible again and hover right in front of him "Professor, as you can see, my feet would not touch the ground of the castle anywhere outside this room." 

I feel the triumphant curl of my own lips turn into a cunning one, even as my voice fades out instead of ending with an exclamation mark. I still _feel_ the exclamation mark, excitement like electricity dancing through my finger tips. 

I have to admit that this idea really just came right now. But, if I'm allowed to say so, it is bloody brilliant. Does it feel like that to be a Slytherin? Elegantly work your way around boundaries you don't consider valuable for yourself?

If so, I get it now, why they strut through the castle as if it belongs to them: In a way, it does. I disillusion myself again and hover there, completely still, almost without any movements, making a point with a loud exclamation-silence. 

I get anxious while waiting for his answer, but I didn't study Occlumency this determinedly for nothing. Just as my body is, I turn my mind completely still, focus on the floating board, focus on him and nothing else. The rational, controlled part of my brain that is allowed to stretch out completely during this process notes that I basically turned myself into a ghost, and wonders how I would deal with the sudden shock of other humans, other kids, around me. Just like a starving person that starts eating again very slowly despite the temptation of a full meal, I, too, would have to start slow. 

The boys always said I have a kind of death-glare, similar to Professor Snape, when I am focused. And right now, as my focus is as bright and clear and fixed as never before, taking in every little detail about the headmaster, from the golden thread that holds the stars on his hat to the slight movement of his foot, his breathing and the movement of his fingers, as if he was waiting to cast, as I focus like never before to deduce his answer before I even get it and brace myself agaist another No, I see that he feels my stare despite my Disillusion. And for a split second, a quarter of a heartbeat, he backs off. I am sure I saw that. I felt it. 

And then, Professor Dumbledore's eyes sparkle. A smile appears in the corner of his mouth. "I still don't know how to sent you back, and I see that you put a lot of effort and skill into a way to stay as unnoticed as possible."

He sighs. "Forgive my ignorance - once you are old, spending time by yourself in a quiet place becomes more of a luxury and less of a punishment. I cannot keep you in here forever, it seems. I think I can trust you with that, Hermione.Go on, then. No - hover on. But be aware, no one must see you. Also, make sure you are here at every midnight. When I find a way to sent you back, we will meet here, then." 

I almost can't believe my luck, and I also can't believe that I bubble out: "What about the teachers who can see through the charm?" 

He sighs again, takes of his glasses, folds it closed, tips it against his lips. Then he puts it in a chest pocket I did not notice before, and rubs his long nose. "Minerva already suspects that I am up to something. She won't like it, but when I tell her that there is a student in hiding... Witness Protection Program, as the muggles call it... she already accepted a lot of other things I asked from her in the last years. She probably won't even ask that much." 

"Thank you, sir," I whisper. "Thank you so much." 

_What for? You did it all on your own, H. You got yourself your own wings, and that you are going to fly now is on you and you alone._

He could still have neglected me. 

_And would you really have listened to him, then? Be honest!_

I can't be honest, because I honestly don't know any more. I am just glad I wasn't tested. 

He leaves, and I stay right where he left me, like one of the forgotten objects all around. I take a deep breath. And another. Three and a half months in this room, and now I want out so much that it scares me. But I most not be scared. 

Being excited makes you careless, stupid, vulnerable. I learned that in my second year when I ran back from the library, right into a huge ass snake. Being scared makes you freeze, which I learned only recently, face to face with a werewolf. 

But there are no snakes and wolves outside. Only people. Students. Teachers. Only the future of our world. I stare at the closed door. I never checked if it would open. Why did I never check? Who imprisoned me, after all?

I wait. I wait for my fear to leave, wait for my hands to stop shaking. I take a bath, clear my mind, change into the robes I found. They would be outdated in my time, long, dress-like robes in black. Just in case anything goes wrong, blending in with the other students is my emergency plan.

Also, I don't miss the grey skirts at all. Stupid things. I practice my flight skills with the robes, to make sure that it has no influence on it... Okay, I put off going out. 

I'm scared, like a lab monkey confronted with an outdoor park for the first time. That's what my solitary confinement did to me. So, I hover around the book piles once more, as I see something glittering. Carefully, I bring the board down, lean in as much as I dare, and pull out the object. It is a knife in a leather shed and has Alfred Cutterlys All-Cutter engraved. I've heard a lot about these. They are right on top of Filch's list of forbidden things.

Of course, no one wants the students to have pointy weapons, and it would make potion brewing an easy, enjoyable task without having to battle ingredients - something Snape could never allow. Blimey, someone might even like it then. 

But, technically, I am not a student, right? I turn the nearest scarf into a belt, and the weight of the knife as well as the tightness of the belt around my waist feels somehow comforting. This is where my hips are, this is where my body ends. Invisible or not, I feel this middle point. It is good. I am good. The robes fit well, my hair is secured, the charm is on. That's as ready as it gets. Time to go.

"Alohomora," I whisper at the door and hover out, kneeing on the board, making myself as small as possible. I am on the corridors again. It smells of food, sweat, perfume, rainy air from outside, rusty metal. The pictures whisper and move, a cat strolls by, there are voices in the distance. Tears burn in my eyes out nowhere.

Complete sensory overload, and this is only the empty seventh floor between classes! It takes all I got to not run back to the Room of Hidden things.

Let it go, push it away, I tell mmyself, feeling small against this wave of _things happening._ Occlumency safes me after a few minutes. It's quite a useful skill, even more so since there are mind readers around. I wonder why no one talks about it. No, actually, I do not really wonder.The Ministry never wanted us to know too much, or cared to investigate causes like Sirius, and also they are crapping their pants over Dumbledore. Of course they don't want us to know. And the teachers... 

Safely hidden in this cocoon of flowing thoughts and musings, I can move forwards.

Still it is midday until I have worked my way down to the first floor. The Great Hall is a challenge for another day, and I hover near the charms classroom. I hope that Professor Flitwick is already teaching it. I like his elegant style with a wand, and I plan to sneak in with the next students. They will arrive in a few minutes, and I comfortably cross my legs under me and lean my back on a pillar. 

_Stay calm, H. Stay calm. This is just school. You are invisible. No one will bother you. All is well. It is going good. I'm fine._

Suddenly, I hear steps. Someone comes running. Private affairs in between classes, I think with a grin. I've had plenty of these myself.

But the boy that appears around the corner does not look like he's up to something fun. He is slim, his robes are almost ragged, and he has sleek black hair. I recognize the look on his face from the day we met Harry after his detention with Lockheart: Something, or someone, is after him. 

I pull out my wand, just in case. I know that I must not intervene, but three years with the boys created certain reflexes. _I couldn't just - or could I?_

Three other boys appear behind him, also running. "Carpe Reactrum!" yells one of them, and a rope whips out of his wand and binds the first boy's feet together. Nothing softens his fall, and he moans after he lands heavy on his face. Outch. 

"Nice one, James! Petrificus Totalus!" Their victim freezes.

The three boys stop. One of them looks so much like Harry that it's like a slap in the face, but I have never seen this expression on my friend. It turns the beloved face into an ugly, scary caricature that makes my stomach flutter. The other boy is way too pretty, and he smirks. Third in this row is smaller, plump, has a round face. He struggles most with the chase and props his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

I think they are older than me, maybe in fifth grade. I know who they are. Of course I know. 

"So, Siri, what are we gonna do with dear Snivellus now" asks James Potter, my best friend's dead father. 

"Hmmm, let's think... we had the bat bogey hex this week, the wobbly legs, growing teeth... How about a pig snot as a nose?" asks Sirius Black, his godfather, whose life we saved not too long ago. 

"As if anyone could tell the difference!" laughs Peter Pettigrew, who will sell them all out in a few, short years. 

The other two look at him with - what? Almost fatherly pride? 

"Right, Peter, right you are. How about we turn him into a skunk for the day?" 

"Can we pull this of?" Peter worries. 

"Even if it goes wrong, who cares?" James Potter asks. I have to face it. These are James Potter, Sirius Black, and Peter Pettigrew, peacefully discussing what they could do to a helpless Slytherin student in front of them. I feel as if someone had just stabbed me, and I am glad I am leaning against the pillar. I am frozen in horror. 

In my loneliness, I had forgotten how cruel people can be. Something a nerdy moodblood should really never forget. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't been that wrong about solitude being a treat, not a thread. 

Now I feel cold, and shaky, and small. Suddenly, I start to think. I do not have to stay here. I could act. I could...

In one version of reality, my horror turns to anger, and with the anger rises my power. I manage to free the boy with a whispered spell, and he runs of. 

In another version, my anger is so huge that I endanger my cover and hunt them like an angry invisible hippogriff. 

And in yet another version, I turn myself visible just to yell at them, and cause a really huge amount of chaos. 

Or I get a teacher, revealing myself and face the consequences. 

Or I make my wand blare like a siren, the alarm this needs to see. Anything but this silence, and three boys standing over one on the ground, like back then... 

But I have to admit - and I am sure that guilt will hunt me forever - that this version of Hermione Granger, me, is just as frozen and desperate as back in first year with the troll and the devil snare. I lean on my pillar, I feel tears in my eyes, and I stare on the scene in front of me. Harry will never ever hear anything about this, I swear to myself. That is all I can do for now, considering Dumbledore's orders and my own coward traitor heart. It is all too much, too loud, too bright, too intense, too scary. How could I do something? Who am I to do something? I am the child on the ground, not the one standing and laughing. 

"Well, gentlemen, what kind of mischief is going on here?" A Professor appears on the floor. I am so relieved I really start to cry, even tough I think mischief is not quite the right word. 

"Oh, nothing, Professor Slughorn. Just a little discussion," young Sirius Black says with a huge smile to the man. 

Professor Slughorn sighs and shakes his head. "Boys will be boys, my poor nerves." He waves his wand at the Slytherin, freeing him from the ropes. "Out and about, Mister Snape, I guess you all got classes to attend?" 

As if this was just - banter. Something that happens every day. Oh God, what if it did? What if this was the way things were at Hogwarts twenty years ago?

 _What if this is the way Hogwarts is right now, and you just happen to hang with the right crowd for once? Remember when everyone accused Harry to be the heir of Slytherin? Remember everything Neville has to go through everyday, from the Slytherins, Snape, even from your own house_? 

As if Slughorn had used a keyword, the corridor starts to fill with people. I can hardly believe what I see. He just lets this... slip? How? Why? He can't do that? 

"Horace?" I hear the disbelieving voice of Professor McGonagall. She is shockingly young, and shockingly unimpressed. 

"Ah, Minerva. Your little troublemakers are at it again, I think," Professor Slughorn says cheerfully. Meanwhile, young Snape (!) manages to get on his elbows. 

Professor McGonagall frowns. "Why are you even here, Potter, Black, Pettigrew?" 

"We were off to see Remus Lupin in the hospital wing, Professor, and we happened to run into Sniv- Snape." 

"You hexed me!" His voice does not have that dark timbre yet I know from later years. It is also not so secure. Just a boy's voice. 

"Well, after what you said back in Herbology about Pandora, it wouldbe more than adequate, if we had done it." James Potter also sounds just like Harry, only that I have never heard that tone from Harry. Not even with Malfoy, not even when he was mad as hell. 

"I said nothing about her! Macnair said something, but he's too strong for you to face when you're short one guard dog, right, Potter?" Now he sounds more like himself, sneering and sharp, and he knows how to hit the mark. Interesting choice of words, too. Does he know something? But overall, I'm still too shocked to think much. The teachers just stand here and let this fight happen right under their noses? All the students have circled the scene now. 

"You laughed at what he said, Snape!" Sirius hissed. 

"So it's forbidden to laugh when your elaborate humor isn't the source of it, Black?" 

Suddenly, all the wands are out. 

"Enough!" McGonagall commands. "Mister Snape, detention." The ring of bystanders breaks open when another group of students comes through, all three of them Gryffindor girls. As soon as Snape sees them, he closes his eyes. Pain flickers over his face, and he turns his head away, hiding under his greasy hair. All eyes are on the girls now, and I hold my breath. Something is about to happen.

Quietly, a redheaded girl steps forwards, and helps Snape back to his feet. She is actually the first person that seems to care for him at all. He doesn't look at her, still, and after some very long seconds of crucial silence, she sighs and goes to stand back with her friends, head held high. She is ready to fight anyone who would be stupid enough to just look in her general direction. No one does. 

"Black, Potter, Pettigrew, you too, detention on the weekend," Professor McGonagall commands and breaks the atmosphere.

"But, Professor -" Sirius now looks shaken. 

"After the game, of course, Mr. Black," and with that she's off to her classroom. Wow. She isn't nearly as mad as she is with us for less. This is just... I have no words. Baby Snape snorts. Without interrupting her way out, Professor McGonagall hisses, for all to hear: "If you would understand anything about teamwork and sports, Mr. Snape, you would realize that it is not fair play to punish many for acts of few." 

Professor McGonagall actually walks over a student for the greater good of Quidditch. Too bad everyone loses their head over that dumb game. I still can't process what happens. This is just - too much. So bluntly unfair.

Still, I force myself to not jump to conclusions. I don't know anything behind this incident, I have no background information. And this is Snape, after all, I doubt he's an angel. And he seems to be on good terms with that horrible, Hippogriff-beheading asshat Macnair, and I have seen someone as good and pure as Harry losing it with Malfoy... still, the cold way they debated about what to do with Snape... When Professor Flitwick shows up, I don't find myself able to sneak into the classroom. I just can't. This isn't the Hogwarts I know and love and understand. This is a dangerous, colder, strange place, and I don't feel as if I can stand it right now.

So, when the classroom doors close, I keep making my way around the castle. Almost without wanting to, I make my way to the library, take a seat on top of the shelf for History of Magic, anchor my invisible board next to me, and wrap my arms around my legs. I stay like that for a long while, and watch the light change in its familiar way, watch it wander down the wall, touch the curtains, the books, the dark wooden floor tiles, a small spot of familiar, comforting yellow, amber, orange, and finally evening red. 

In many ways, this is more my home at Hogwarts than the noisy, stuffed, unicorn tapestry Gryffindor tower, and after hours of silence, I finally can think again. So this is what I do. Thinking. Processing. Trying to understand. 

I stay there until it is late evening. Baby Snape enters, finds a table where he has his back secure in a corner of a wall and a bookshelf, and gets out books. After a while, the redhead from before joins him and approaches his table. 

He looks up. "Evans." 

"Snape." 

They stare at each other with serious expressions. Then, Snape breaks out into a wide grin. "Glad you could make it, Lil." 

"It's Thursday, and our date is still on, isn't it?" Lily Evans smiles an open, friendly smile, and sits next to him. She intervenes his huge comfort zone so casually that it can only be due to a very long familiarity. I finally get out of my knee-hugging, move to my board and hover closer. They don't notice me at all.

"Sev, you promised to try it..." 

"It wasn't my fault, Lily. I really try to get out of their way, but somehow they just find me. I don't get it, really. And..." 

"What happened in class?" 

"Pandora was being ridiculous over nargles again, Lils, and Walden said that they probably lived in her hair. It wasn't so much of a good joke, but he has been down a lot since his brother joined, so we all laugh when he tries to be funny. That's it." 

"Pandora is down a lot, too, since her aunt and uncle were killed by Macnair's brother's friends," Lilly Evans sais sharply.

There they are, two kids my age, discussing Death Eater activities over homework. One will be dead in only a few years, leaving a baby, one will be - yeah, what? A teacher, trusted by Dumbledore, a bully, a dark, a strange man with so many secrets. But one thing had just become painfully clear to me: I know now why he treats the students the way he does. He learned from the best. 

Baby Snape bites his lip. "This sucks. All of it. Too bad we two couldn't just be stupid Hufflepuffs, growing whatever Happy Plant our good ol' Sprout got so amused about last week." He sighs. 

"Mean, Sev." Lily pokes him with an elbow, but smiles. 

"Anyway... thanks for standing next to me, Lily. Thank you for being my friend." 

I have never heard him thank anyone before. Or actuallysay something like that. It is something a book character would say, something I would have said in my fist year.BBut then again, I am the most socially awkward person I know. 

Only that she smiles. This is a whole different world, here, in this time, and this place. Maybe it is for him, too. The sanctuary of the library allows it. 

"Always, Sev." She pulls out two rolls of parchment, and with the same natural generosity Harry has in him, pushes one over to Snape. "Same deal? You go through my potions homework in return?" She clarifies as he opened his mouth in protest. 

"As if you need that." 

"But I want that." 

"Oi, and the day Gryffindor's princess doesn't get what she wants, hell freezes over and Merlin goes skating on it," he sneers.

Lily rolls her eyes on that. "O.W.L.S., Sev. I'm not taking any risks. Oh, no, did you write in your book again?" 

He snaps his book away from her, they engage in a short and quiet fun fight for it (which he clearly wins) but in the end they start working. I sit on my shelf, very grateful for my invisibility. The face I pull is very probably not smart at all. My jaw dropps so low it may smash my knees when I understand: Snape and Lily Evans, future Potter, are friends, best friends even. The Marauders are bullies. The teachers are unfair, even McGonagall. If I go outside, the sky is probably green. 

Snape and Lily are friends. I push away the thought that neither Harry or Ron would have moved one centimeter away from my side in a setting like the one this morning. But again, I don't know the back story. Maybe he doesn't want her to be more active. He is a proud, closed man in my time. Maybe he is like that already. 

The thought comes back when after two hours of peaceful work with occasional jokes and banter, the two girls from before enter the library and wave at Lily. They come to sit at the table, too, and Baby Snape mutters an excuse and gets away. Lily just lets him. It is so, so sad. So this is friendship? This is all he has? 

No, wait, H. I don't know the whole story. I can't judge the situation fairly right now. If I want to have an opinion on that (and I know that I want one) I need to know more. But still, here I am, twenty years in the past, feeling sorry for Professor Snape.

That night, I wait for Professor Dumbledore so eagerly that it hurts. He doesn't show up.


	5. on  sophist  seas  to  overtake  that  mark

I know I am running away. I have never felt less brave. Bravery - doing the right thing when nobody is watching, no friend, no enemy, no bystander... bravery is not for me, not right now. It is important that I keep hidden, because I have been hidden.

Nothing in the History of Hogwarts ever gave the slightest hint about me, no trace, no mention. I would have noticed. The book, by the way, is an incredibly interesting piece of magic. It updates itself. Whenever something significant happens in the castle, the book knows as soon as the headmaster knows. And since Dumbledore knows, did know in the future, it would have known. I found a copy and read it religiously. No Chamber of Secrets yet - he does not know yet. That part was added after our adventure.

And this is why I am running. After all the time I wanted out so badly, I can now hardly stand the thought. I try to withdraw to books, school work and other literature, the ever growing piles of books around my tent. I try to take as less of this new (old) colder darker Hogwarts in as possible, and focus on myself. It is just too much, and not enough, at the same time. The noise is unbearable, and the void of friendly faces in Gryffindor tower silences the longing that was oh so loud in my mind.

I fill the silence with work. I do the reading for school, and the practical exercises, but I don't do the writing any more. It has always been a waste of time for my personal progress, it is only important for the teachers to see that I do indeed know the answers. There may be people that can only remember things after they write them down in their own words - poor souls. Reading things has always been enough for me. And I am not graded any more. My progress belongs to me alone. 

Also, it shocks me a little how fast I can pace through the stuff when I don't have to drag the boys along. I love them dearly, I really do, but studying just isn't a group thing. The time I win is spent with my silly hover tricks, and light reading. I read hopeful poems, things other people wrote to keep going. I learn poems by heart, as I learn everything by heart that impresses me, write it on the huge chalkboard I imagine my mind to be. 

Often, I find myself staring out of the window for hours. The woods there became a place of longing. Something I want to disappear in. Not forever, but maybe for long enough, until everything stops aching.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I've got promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep." I quote Robert Frost out loud, to remind myself that I cannot just vanish. I need to get home. 

And I need to adjust to the world again, or there won't be much of me that could return after all. So, I do it. I leave the Room with cold hands and clenched teeth, pulling silence around me like a cloak. 

I sneak into classes, skipping and repeating as I desire, and find myself seeing Baby Snape more often than not. He is taking on too many lessons to succeed, and too many fights to win them, but somehow succeeds most of the time. There is a tension in his face I only begin to understand late at night when I am back in the safety of the Room and try to rub the knots out of my own shoulders. 

He is not innocent - muttering under his breath, glaring, taunting, moving in a way thst provokes. Still many situations do escalate through the actions of the Marauders. A lot of conflicts in my time are resolved by someone shrugging and walking away. Even Draco Malfoy thinks highly enough of his own dignity to not hex someone who has his back turned on him. I am ashamed to admit that this makes him a more honorable opponent than the Maurauders. Especially Sirius Black is not limited by this kind of morald, so whenever they clash, it cannot end without spells.

Snape tries his best to live up to his future reputation. He has a sharp eye for people's flaws and insecurities, and uses them mercilessly when confronted; even going so far to bring the Marauders absence every full moon to the attention of the crowd (there is always a crowd. It makes me sick.) 

But he hardly ever starts it, unless you count staring as starting. They keep running into him, and I am quite certain they use the map for it. Makes me sick as well. The day I noticed the pattern, I ripped my plan of the room from the wall, a useless gesture - as useless as I am right now. 

Even Lily does not defend him much. Once he is in, he uses all tricks possible. Some of them are really dark. I wonder what I'd do if I were fighting outnumbered one to four every other day. Maybe just hide. As I do now. I hide and I watch. 

Without him to fight, the Marauders are just what the future makes them out to be. Brothers, outsiders in their own way, bound by secrets, adventures and sharing dreams and a dorm. James is the only one from a happy family. Sirius has been hated by his parents and brother since he was sorted into my house, Peter Pettigrew seem to be the family disappointment just like Neville in my time, and poor little goldenheart Remus suffers silently and is still astonished by the fact that he actually has friends. I can read that in his face. I know the expression from my photos with Ron and Harry. 

Anxiety runs down like spiders down my spine whenever I have to witness how everything, posture, facial expression, tone and choice of words, even the way they interact with each other changes when they face Snape. James becomes a cold and efficient wizard who overlooks a situation within seconds, finding possible outcomes as easily as Harry finds the snitch. Sirius turns into a Sheppard Dog in human form, ducked, hard-eyed and ready to attack, moving in effortless synchronization with his best friend, aware of everything. Remus, senses sharpened and stretched out to the edge by his condition, always has their back, absolutely and definitely. 

And chubby little Peter, who is clumsy and friendly in the tower, mothering and hugging everyone, has a spark of desire in his eyes when it comes to violence that gives me a cold lump in the stomach.

Also, that war cry. First I thought it was a Four Musketeer thing, but the more I hear it, the more it sounds like cruel foreshadowing: "In with a lightning, out with a blast." One starts the first part, the others yell the second, and then they clash with the Slytherins. I wonder if they will carry this into the real war, the war that will claim them soon enough. 

They already are the wizards of the first resistance they will be in a few short years, fierce and dangerous to an amount I could never imagine peers of my age to be, the First Generation, the light in the dark. They believe they will fight the war to end all wars - and just like the children that marched in the muggle world, they do not know how wrong they will be. And the way they defend Dumbledore to the point of dueling anyone critical, even in their own house, in mere seconds makes it clear where they stand, to themselves, the world, the future.They build their legacy right now.

I have absolutely no idea where Baby Snape's loyalties are. Maybe only with Lily. He does hang with the Slytherins, but they don't defend him from the Marauders or include him much, at least from what I have seen. 

Yes, I did follow him, too. The days are pretty long when you're invisible. He is invisible too, but in a different way. A more painful way, because it is not intentional. Mostly, he is alone.

He is also on his own that first night we really meet. I am in the library again, long after bedtime, and enjoy the silence. The only thing that moves are the books I accio to me from time to time. I put away my recent book and Nox the light when I hear hasty steps, and I hide in mid-air, hovering, with my charms on. I recognize Snape's voice as he opens the door with Alohomora, sneaks in, and tries his best to melt with the darkness behind the shelves, forgetting to lock it behind him. Again, he has that look on his face. They are the hunters, he is the prey, and he isn't that good at it.

And in that moment, I cannot watch any longer. What if he was Harry? What if he was me, and they were the troll? What if none of that matters, and I was a person with basic dignity?

As quietly as I can, I whisper a locking charm, just seconds before someone tries to open the door. And someone rattles the door. 

"Come on, Prongs, he isn't in here," I hear, and then people run away.

Snape sighs. I sigh, too. 

He freezes, and I forget to breathe. He stares into the darkness. And then, heartbreakingly defeated, he says: "Just... come out and get it over with, okay? Just hex me, and I try to defend myself, and we can go on with our night."

He sounds so very tired and sick of this game. And so am I. I really don't want to scare him, and I don't want him to stand there like that.

_It's Snape, H, he bullied Neville to tears within the first week. And yourself, too._

So I will just stay silent? No. I hope to be better than that. It's just so wrong. That's not who I am, not who I was brought up to be, not who I want to be. And I don't want him to be scared. Not in here. This room means shelter. I make a decision. Everything I do has been done already in my time. Also, I did interfere already, now I can just keep going. Screw it. Screw doubts, screw overthinking, screw the ever-awake inner critic, screw the rules.

"Don't worry... I mean no harm" I whisper as quietly as I can. After so many weeks of not speaking to anyone but Dumbledore and myself, this is more exciting than I thought it would be. My heart is beating so loud I can hardly hear my own words. 

Still, Baby Snape has heard them just fine. He jumps and raises his wand in my general direction. "Who are you? Where are you?"

I hover away from the wand. "I don't hurt students," I whisper. My voice seems to be just right for whispering now. I am not sure if I could speak up if I wanted to.

"Are you... are you a ghost?"

"Something like that..."

"And what side are you on?" He still points his wand around and stares so strained as if he tries to pierce the air.

"I am on nobodies side because nobody is on my side..." I quote. Lord of the Rings may seem like an odd choice, but it's a safe one, considering the wizard's lack of interest in muggle culture. "But I belong to the castle." We both wait. Nobody moves. 

Finally, he bites his lip. "If you wanted to attack me, you already would have."

"Indeed." 

"And if you think about betraying me, better think twice. I know how to play. You will start it but I will end it, and you won't like how it ends." 

I have to admit that it doesn't sound like empty threats. Not at all. Not with him looking way more confident than he should at his age and in his situation. He changed from prey to predator in seconds, or was both all along, and is, I understand, not as far away from Professor Snape as I thought him to be. The power in him, he hides it. For the better, probably.

"Is it wise, threatening something you can't see...?" I ask. There is a little amusement in my voice, and he immediately catches it.

"Do you find me funny?" The words are hissed.

"Yes, little snake." I hover to another side of the room. "I don't get much... entertainment."

He turns around to follow my voice. "I have a good deal of practice with enemies I can't see. I am damn sure they got an invisibility cloak, these boys that..." He interrupts himself. It's hard to admit.

"...hunted you." I finish. Helpful by nature.

"You saw them, then?" He frowns.

"Who, do you think, locked the door?"

His face turns even paler, and then, it lights up. "Not me. You... helped me? ... You helped me." And then, the miracle happens. He lowers his wand and his guard. Young Severus Snape turns his back on me to go to the window and sit in the window board, back leaned comfortably on the thick stone wall. "You belong to the castle? That's interesting. Never heard of a whispering library voice before. Hello."

He and Professor Snape are two completely different people in my head right now. I get a little dizzy from how often that changes. He is a curios boy, hiding in the library from bullies. Hello, mirror. I really want to keep that conversation going, even if its just for the sake of having an actual conversation (or so I tell myself). "Hello." I say.

"Um, are you only a voice?" "

No... not really, no."

"So do you have... um... a body? Since you locked the door?" His voice isn't threatening and sharp any more, and really not sarcastic. He's just curious, and I consider an honest answer. A body. A body means being seen, touched, held, looked at. A body means structure, texture, reality. Actually, I feel nothing of that any more. Not really. So I don't even feel like lying when I answer "No."

"But you said you are no ghost, either. Well, I guess it doesn't matter, does it?"

"I think not..." "I am Severus Snape. Slytherin," he introduces himself.

"I know..."

"Unfair." He grins. It's the same tiny grin he shows around Lily, hidden in the corner of his mouth. "I mean, you know much about the castle and us, I guess, and I don't know anything about you. Not even your name. Do you have a name?"

"Not any more." Doesn't feel like a lie either.

"Well, if you don't mind, I will call you Whisper."

"I don't mind. Why are you not afraid?" For all he knows I could be literally anything.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he sneers, and throws his hair out of his face with a harsh move of the head. I have actually seen that gesture before. When I was just eleven and set him on fire. After he had fixed himself up again, he made exactly that move. Back then it astonished me how calm he had reacted to being on literal fire, as if nothing could ever bring him out of his balance, not even spontaneous combustion. The longer I hang around here, the more I understand that he has already seen worse by now.

"I don't think you are a prank, Whisper. They are hardly good enough for that. And I am used to talk to things around Hogwarts others ignore. The Grey Lady, or the house elves." He tries so hard to prove to me that he's not a loner, and to himself that I am what I seem to be, that it is sad. Actually, a lot about this kid is pretty sad. Mostly the fact that I don't mind talking to him, because I'm quite sure he has no one else to tell about me. Still, I have to make sure.

"I am no prank, but I am a secret, little snake."

"Don't worry, Whisper. I can keep a secret. Also, I maybe want to return to talk to you again. No need to spoil it for myself."

Laughing sounds weird when you whisper it. Only H-H-H. But he seems to be content with himself for making me laugh.

"And you? Do you talk to students a lot?"

"No... this is a first..."

"Then I'm honored." He rolls his eyes and his little bow is more than sarcastic. There he is again, the infamous Professor S. "Aren't you allowed?"

No need for him to know. "Most people aren't worth... my time."

"And why should I be?"

"I do not explain myself to little boys... see you again... round here..."

And with that I carefully hover up to the bookshelf and hide in my dark corner. Baby Snape scratches his head, snorts, and jumps back to the floor. 

"See ya, Whisper," he says loudly and strolls out of the library, now with way more confidence in his step. It is strange. When we talked I felt calm. Happy, even. Relaxed. It was easy. Now that I am alone, anxiety comes like a big fat tsunami wave and takes me away, until I have to cling to a shelf to stop shaking. My nails dig into the old wood until my fingertips hurt. 

What the hell have I done...? My heart is still pounding in my throat when I finally leave the library and my knees shake so much that I have to sit on the board and paddle. Only when the door of my hideout closes behind me and after I have raised the protective spells around my tent and turned visible again, my breath starts to normalize. 

Then, my mind gets the best of me once more. Back then, when I was frozen while facing the troll and the devil's snare, it was not because I had no idea what to do. It was because I saw all the possibilities, _all of them_ , each and every possible outcome of each and every step I could make, linked in endless crossroads, and most of them ended in certain death. And I was so young, too young and too slow with my mind, to decide which one to chose.

I am older now. 

My mind races, races, and I see possibilities, but more chances than risks. For example, the chance of me not going completely batshit crazy from loneliness, stored away in the Room of Hidden Things like all the other broken stuff people wish to forget about so hard.

_It's okay, H. It's okay. Keep calm. Keep calm. Breathe._

On the silver plate where I get my food, I find a note in a familiar handwriting. "Dear Hermione, sadly I cannot inform you in person, but very urgent business calls me away immediately. Please forgive me that I have to put off our delicate little problem for another few weeks. I trust you to stay low."

Weeks ago, Albus Dumbledore trusting in me would have made me jump for joy. Literally.Now, after my trust in him to keep the school a fair and safe place has vanished so much that I find myself curling my lips.

My dad uses to say "It hurts to find out our idols are human," whenever I came running to him because someone had disappointed me. Like the day I found out that adults all over the world KNEW about the fact that elephants were hunted and about to go extinct, and didn't do anything against it.

"It is us, the people that notice things, who are in charge of the problems we find..."

My dad is a wise man, maybe more than I gave him credit for. I took charge today, and it turned out fine. I start to think that I have to find a way back home on my own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***  
> Sorry for the long silence, dear readers! Real life is a menace sometimes ;)


	6. where wave pretends to drench real sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one gets quite dark, inner monologue wise. Also sorry for the long breaks! Time loses all meaning in this quarantine it seems.

In one version of reality, Professor Dumbledore brought me home right away. 

In one version of reality, I never left the Room, and I am getting worse day after day. But in both, Hogwarts is still Hogwarts - my beautifully flawed home, more than any place ever was, even more than the books, even more than the places I built in my mind during all those long, boring lessons. They canttake away the books you read under the desk, but not the stories in your head. 

In this version of reality, I have started to talk to Severus Snape as a bodyless Whisper, for better or worse. 

Once you start thinking about these alternate universes, it is really hard to stop questioning every outcome of every situation. It is hard to keep the mind from spinning. What if I hadn't been so eager to help Neville find his toad that day on the train, what if hadn't annoyed everyone? What if I had found some people who tolerated me and tagged along, as I always had? I would not have been in the bathroom with the troll. I would not have been in the maze. The boys would have died, choked by that plant. You-know-who would have won. 

People are the X in the equation of time, the big unknown. At least for me. Some, I get. I have known people like Malfoy and Neville, bullies and victims. I have known people like Professor Snape - the other kind of bully. I did respect him, though, the way you respected your chemistry teacher: He keeps you and the exploding stuff at arm's length. I knew from the start I could never impress him. I knew I could never stop trying. That's just how I worked, back then, before the labyrinth and the snake and the werewolf and the Room. I knew all I could get from other kids was annoyed tolerance. I knew what I could get from teachers was validation. We all need something. 

I have spent months without impressing anyone now. Without the tiniest bit of external validation. And, lo and behold, I'm alive. 

And now there is Baby Snape. The next unknown factor in the equation which is his past and my present. I know I like him. I know I don't trust him. I know I don't understand him. I know I won't stop trying. This is just how I work now. 

Our paths don't cross that often, though. I have ditched most classes for the sake of sixth year courses. Unsaid spells and Advanced Arithmancy are way more interesting to me than the newest episode of Marauders vs. Slytherins, our daily teenage drama show.

The only thing I have to endure in the advanced curses is the dazzling enactment of the romance between one Gilderoy Lockheart and one Rita Skeeter, who are about to intrigue their way up to Head Boy and Girl position. While it is perfectly clear that they love nothing as fiercely as themselves, they do appreciate the admiration a dream couple gets. Whatever made them break up probably saved us from them as ministry glamour couple with a stupid merged name. Skeetheart. Riteroy? 

The schedule, well. I have always been ahead of my class. I just like to know what's next. Yes, I am aware of the irony here. And who should stop me from learning what I care about? Anyway, the few times I see Baby Snape, it is late at night in the library. Like many Slytherins, he elegantly slithers around curfew whenever he likes. Nobody stops him either. He is bully, victim, and on his way to become respected. Feared, and grudgingly respected, but still: In my time, people try to not cross him. People who aren't us, at least. 

But that's not the case now. I have to admit that he almost never starts the troubles, but quite often he is the first one with his wand raised. Actually, I can understand that. After years of torment, you wear out. I punched Malfoy in the heat of the moment, no need to be a hypocrite. No judegement for standing his ground. Or stealing some quiet hours in the night for reading. Or seeking out a body less whisper as a friend. 

"Whisper? You here?" And so we begin our nightly routine. 

"Yes. But you shouldn't be... It's almost midnight." 

"I can avoid to be seen. One of the few benefits of being ignored." He sighs. "Uh. That was probably an asshole thing to say to someone who is just a voice. I am sorry, Whisper of the Library." 

"Don't worry, Severus Snape of Slytherin." 

"Sounds like a title when you say it like that. Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to ask you about mine. It's time to pick soon. I'll tell you about it later. Can I ask you something, Whisper?" 

"You already did..." 

"Merlin. You are quite a smartass for someone without an ass." 

I laugh my strange whisper laugh. "All right, Baby Snake." 

"Don't call me that. To the point: It's been six weeks since we met, and in that, four times we talked. And for me, even tough I have to admit I am not the most observant person"

\- that is really not true -

"I came to notice some things. For example, the armory seems a bit off since a while. A few days ago, a helmet fell down and alerted me before I could be hexed in the back. And that cat, Mrs. Norris, suddenly appears in dark corners where people could lure. And two days ago when they did the Pertificus Totalus and left me in the dungeons, the Baron came by only minutes after. It's weird, Whisper. You don't happen to know what this is all about?" He asks it all with a sly grin.

Smart kid. Sadly, that's all I can do for him. "An old castle can be mysterious..." 

"Yes." 

"And people go places... all the time...for their own reasons." 

"Yes. Seems like that. I thought you were not allowed to leave the library?" 

"I never said that... also there are many ways to accomplish a goal." 

"You never said it, but you let me believe it," he says sharply. No word-turning bullshit with him. When adult him is really that close to Dumbledore, how does he even cope? But then he sighs again. 

"I don't need protection, you know? I made it on my own up to now." Sharp, devensive, proud. His adult self, the man he still needs to grow into. 

"I know you can. But maybe you don't always... have to. Also I am not... a protector, in the classical sense." 

"So, what are you doing?" 

"Just... drawing attention to certain thinks. Hints for... others at Hogwarts, others people do not see. Then, I watch what happens. It is interesting." Once again I am honest. I don't even know why I tell him that- maybe because I hope he takes a hint and drops throwing hexes for the sake of brains. 

Also, I would really like to be his friend. His real friend, as I am to Harry. A friend who sits with him at dinner and throws pillows at him when he's being an idiot in the common room. I don't know if it is because he is the only person I talk to, and if I'm about to cling onto something I wouldn't even try otherwise, or if his smart and curious character (that he covers up with brooding) fits my love for learning, or if it is because of his disarming sarcasm, or because I have always had a soft spot for the underdog... 

Whatever it is, as long as I am stuck here I won't shy away, even if I hide under spells. Also, I have to admit that I don't want to talk to anyone else in the moment. The others are either too loud, or too intense, try too much to melt into a hive mind with their peers, or simply too stupid. Boom, yes, here it is. I am running out of patience with people now way to soon. 

Peers, that's the word. I perceive none of them as a peer. Only this one, the snappy, sad one. I have actively chosen to reveal myself to Severus Snape, from all people. I don't know how I feel about hiding it from Dumbledore, though. Good thing I haven't been tested yet. 

"Draw attention, hm? That's all?" I let him linger on that. He doesn't really want an answer. "Tell me about the title..." I ask instead.

He looks uncomfortable now and pulls a face. "It's actually a Slytherin Secret, uh." 

"A secret like me?" I tease. 

"All right," he grins. The grin lights up his whole face. "Most people don't know, but Salazar had a lot of interesting letter exchanges with people from all over the world. One of his pen pals was an old druid, who told him about how in ancient cultures people could chose a name when they came of age. Or when something important happens. To show growth, you know. He liked that idea very much, and we do it ever since, when we turn fifteen." I am not sure if I like where this is going, but I keep quiet. 

"Some people use acronyms, some use nicknames they already have, some aim higher and built something new, get it?" 

I feel a cold shiver run down my invisible spine. _Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort_.

And they all do it. As a joke. The name that is so feared, only the brave and the foolish say it started off as a Slytherin inside joke. It never was psychological warfare. It is a schoolboy tradition. I keep quiet, to calm my racing mind. 

"For example, Macnair plans on calling himself the Butcher, but I think its a little over the top for someone who yells for Avery when he sees a spider." He grins, and I grin back, somehow sure that he knows I'm doing it. 

"Narcissa Black, Malfoy I mean, went with Ice Queen. Everyone loved it, her birthday party was really funny. She drove around in a tiny ice carriage the whole night, waving and throwing candy. Mostly Turkish Delight, even though Lewis is kinda out now, going all nuts over muggle religion. Embarrassing, really. Did you know Bathilda Bagshot was friends with him? Anyway, Malfoy was brilliant. A queen every inch she was," he sneers, but with a gentle smile hiding in the corner of his lips. It's weird hearing someone speak of Slytherins as funny, quirky, nice people that are afraid of spiders and have silly nicknames. 

In a few years, these funny, quirky people will go out to kill and torture others. It is almost impossible to imagine that, here in the library with Severus, who seems unable to stop talking once poked, falls into an accent from his home (probably). He slurrs and shortens his words, uses slang as he likes and yet shows the polished and articulate tone of his older self already. A trained skill, I understand. 

"And you, Severus?" 

"I don't know yet. Maybe something with my mom's last name, or a play on dungeon bat, but Lily said it was stupid. She didn't really get it, I'm afraid. It is supposed to be stupid. It's a game. Everyone is allowed to be silly, and when you pick a good one that shows you know about your own flaws, you gain respect." 

Respect.Whe says it like an incantation. So much hope in his face, suddenly. He looks so young, and his black eyes sparkle. It is weird, how expressive he can be. In the classes, the halls and the corridors, his face is so closed, and his body language is limited to the minimum. 

"You know, it's like we make our own rules that day. Fake titles, fake royalty, lords and ladies and a Highborn Knight of the Sweet Ananas. That's Professor Slughorn, by the way." He looks sad now, biting his lips. The hope has vanished, and the memory of him trying to tell Lily appears on his face. I can see her dismissal ghosting over his features already. This part of the maths I have already solved: Lily equals a small smile and a sad smile soon after, and the sparkles dim down to a tiny, but steady, light. 

I am glad for this light, but I worry about him, too. This friendship with Lily is, and I apologize to Harry in my head every time I think this, somewhat toxic. It is so from both sides, unsaid things, accusations instead of trust, and harsh criticism instead of reaching out. Maybe the whole situation is too difficult for some teenagers. 

Not that age is an excuse per se. Me, Harry and Ron... it is difficult in our time, but they would never avoid ne when they see other people. But how about my own behavior? Now, I'm biting my own lip. If I ever return to my time I'll have to make up a lot of things to a lot of people. For real. 

But right now I want to cheer up the person in front of me. I want to do something for him. "Have you also considered... correspondence? Like Salazar?" 

He raises an eyebrow. "With whom?" 

"Interesting people... people who can follow your thoughts... on potions, maybe. You said you hate group work because they are all morons... but maybe, you just have not found the right group yet." 

He snorts. "Nah. They're probably all morons, too. And I got you. You are smart. What you said about the Levitating Theorem..." 

"When you think I am smart... why not consider my advice?" 

Now, he frowns. It is probably new for him to be encouraged. With anything. "They won't even talk to me. I'm just a student." 

"You are a Slytherin. I'm sure you can find a way ..." As the muggles say, on the internet no one knows you are a dog. He just has to get there somehow on his own. He rolls his eyes, but a few days after, I see him write down some addresses of potion researchers from recent publications. It's weird, when I suggest stuff like that as myself, a girl, people call me a know-it-all, when I do it as a bodiless whisper they call it advice.

_No, it's not weird. It's patriarchy. And you don't have a thing for underdogs, you are the damn underdog._

Uh, the voice of reason. It's been a while. 

_Well, you are the one who hushes me every time, H. And what are you even doing? You know that this leads absolutely nowhere, right?_

Wrong. After a few days, he has received an answer from a Potion Master in France, who was very curious about the improvements to the Dreamless Sleep Draught Severus suggested. He has come to the library to open it with me, and when he reads out loud the discussion and encouragement to the "young brewer from Australia," he actually beams. 

"Why Australia?" 

He shrugs it off as if it's no big deal. "Interesting potion scene over there. Easy access to venoms." 

"And that is all?" I am curious about his aspirations. The other end of the world, land of myth for a poor kid from an abandonned mine town. It might as well be the moon - long distance apparition spots or floors are just as expensive as flights. 

"Keep your invisible nose out of my business, will you?" 

"That request makes no sense, Baby Snake. Even if I said yes to you... you'll never know." I laugh silently, but since I am actually reading over his shoulder, he feels my breath in his neck. 

"Hey!" He moves his shoulders and rubs his neck. "Don't do that." 

"Sorry..." Shocked, I almost jump-hover away and hide on the next best bookshelf. Too close, way too close, what am I even doing? 

"Eh, don't bother." But I do bother. I almost gave myself away. It had taken weeks for me to be able to be physically close to a person again, and now I am hiding, shaking. I almost blew my cover because I had become too comfortable! 

"Whisper? Are you still here?"

But I can't answer now. I don't trust my voice. What if its shrill and shrieking again? Or completely gone? Severus looks lost on his chair in the library, holding his letter, and I feel lost in my dark corner. This really isn't a state a person can live in... 

"I have to go for now..." And with that I swish out of the room and back to my sanctuary. The door slams shut behind me and I lean against it. I feel my fingertips ghost over old wood and metal. I try to breathe, but instead I am sobbing. Too close. Too much. 

But while I am pressed against the door, sobbing and sniffeling, a tiny voice in my head tells me that I am pressed against the door, sobbing and sniffeling, and that it is a bit silly. Once the thought takes hold, I leave the door, wipe away my tears, and get back to work. This isn't a state a person can live in. So, I need to change it. 

Thirty hours of research later, I feel like I am near a breakthrough concerning the Time-Turner. When Severus had mentioned Australia, a bell rang in my head, and once I was done shaking and cursing my own carelessness I started to follow that trace. It has been in the book Professor McGonagall gave me when I got the Time-Turner first, called "Time Travel - Risks and Responsibility", and in that book there had been that sentence in the first chapter, Concerning Turners: The rare Time Crystals can only be found in Australia, and have to be carefully crushed to gain Time Sand. Due to the multiple accidents in the gaining process, the fabrication of Time- Turners has stopped in... 

So now, my new mission is Australia. If it is impossible to find something about the Turner itself, maybe the raw material will give me a hint, I thought, and went through all the books I could get my hands on, with little success. I need more sources, but I am still hesitating to hover up to the biggest pile of crap I have found yet, it reaches up to the ceiling. 

I take a deep breath. It's all for the mission, right? Carefully, I hover up. And up. And there at the very top waits the book. The Gifts of the Red Continent, by N. and P. Flamel. Like an old friend waving at you from a distance. From above the pile, I reach for it. 

I feel the smile breaking through my tiredness, the dense feeling in my shoulders is eased as I carefully reach out for the book. And then there is pain. A sudden, sharp, well-known pain, a knife stabbed into my guts and twisted. Black circles in my vision. My breath stops in my throat. My body freezes for a moment, I am in the air, petrified, always petrified - I lose my balance and in a second that turns into an eternity I feel my feet lose contact with the board. 

I fall. 

And I fall. 

Seconds like years. Thoughts racing. 

Time has always been soft on me in the moment of danger. Maybe I have never been in such a danger before. If I get hurt now, no one will help me. No one will know that I am here. No one will miss me. If I die now, no one will know what happened. I have the Disilluision charm still on. I will be invisible, forever unfound in the Room of Hidden Things. 

But the voices in my head will be silent. No more doubts. No more mistakes. No more impossible decisions, no more fear of the events falling like dominoes by my every move, unstoppable, unchangeable, as I watch in terror from a distance, reaching out but nothing reaches back... 

You are falling, and you are drowning in self pity, and it is a bit silly, the voice in my head says. Save your damn self, H, now.

It is a command, coming from within, and I obey. I save my damn self. My spell turns an entire pile of forgotten items to soft feathers, scares them up like a gust, and makes me the Center they circle like Jupiter's moons. Desperation is one hell of a magic chanel. 

A heartbeat after the uttered Latin leaves my lips, the feathers fall around me like snow, getting denser and denser under me, until my fall is ever so gently stopped. 

I lay on my back and dare not move. Memories of children on a primary school playground appear instead of the feathers. Faces that look from above, cold sand in my back. _Did we kill her? Uh, we'll be in troubles. Looks like beavers really can't fly. Why did she let go?_ ... I hadn't.

They had pushed me. Lured me on a climbing frame first, and desperately hoping for friends I went with them, and they had pushed me. A joke. A laugh. And I had picked myself up after some careful breaths and walked away. I take some careful breathes, and a small feather tickles my nose, and I let out a huge, loud sneeze. 

The sneeze is the shock my body and mind need to snap back. It is just so ordinary. Loud and comical and non-magical. Feathers are everywhere. 

I am okay. The sharp pain in my abdomen is still there. Worlds worst-timed period cramp ever. This time, it was my own body that pushed me. Too little sleep, too little self care, months without the helpful regulation potion Madame Pomfrey gives out so we girls can keep functioning. I was too proud or too awkward to ask Dumbledore for it. Stupid me. 

_Get up, H. You can't stay there. You have to transfigure some hygienic products, drink water, get that book and find out about time sand._

But I am so tired. It hurts. The feathers are soft, and I am slowly sinking in deeper. I don't want to take care of everything any more. I want to be taken care of. Just once. Leave me alone. No one will know that I'm being weak. 

_You will know. Beavers can't fly. And they win? After all these years? Get up and walk away._

And even though it is the hardest thing I have ever done, I carefully vanish the feathers, sink to the actual, cold, hard ground, get up, and I gesture the damn board back to me, and I lie on it on my stomach, flat, shivering, so scared I could vomit, shaking, but still going, as I hover up again. I shove the book down with a broomstick. It lands on the floor with a heavy thudd, pages wrinkled on the ground, spine broken. 

Could have been you. Hasn't been me.

When I am finally back in the tent with the book, I find it more than useful. What I read in there is almost as valuable as the courage I found, the strength to pick myself up again. Just as if the room had placed it there for me, for this sole purpose. Maybe Room of Hidden Things is the wrong name. What did I lose when I turned that other pile into feathers? 

I will never know. But I know what I won. My life. And the book. 

Reading it feels like a hug from the formerly mentioned old friend. Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, who we researched in our first year, present me a hint like an early Christmas gift. After the Philosophers Stone, a Time Crystal is probably a piece of cake, I thought. As I read it is not. Gaining Time Sand is probably the hardest and most delicate work in the whole history of magical artefacts. They both strongly advise against it. 

"The wise builder of a Time-Turner rejoices to material already at hand." 

I read the last sentence out loud. Material already at hand. And suddenly, it makes sense. As soon as the dawn comes I hover to the floor where I crash landet (right back on the horse). I have to get out. Have to on several levels. 

The corridor I had my accident in is left alone once more, and the thick carpet doesn't look like it has been cleaned since my fall. I can even see some spots of blood in there when I look closely. Dumbledore has cleaned it himself, I guess, to not bring attention to the matter. A few waves of wand, and a public place that is not paid much attention... I wait untill the floor is absolutely empty, and then I prepare the mason jar and my wand. "Accio Time-Sand!" 

As it turns out, I am still able to scream. 

I had started to doubt after my silent fall. "Finite Incancatem! Finite!" The sand that had started to fly out of the carpet falls back with a rattling noise, sounding shockingly loud in the complete silence following my painful outburst. The grains of sand that were still under my skin, rubbed into the wounds abd accidentally sealed in by healing magic, stop trying to burst out of my skin. 

The pain has made me visible (some things are stronger than Disillusion), and I stare at the spirals and patterns the sand forms directly under my skin. It looks like very, very beautiful scars, or white tattoos - also, it looks as if I have absorbed at least half of the sand from my broken Time-Turner. How is that even possible? I really don't know how I feel about that. A door is smashed open, and I hear hasty steps. Of course, my yelling hasn't gone unnoticed. "Accio time sand from the floor, carpets and walls!" 

Quickly, before it gets dragged away by many curious feet, I let the sand fly into the jar, Disillusion myself and hover up to the ceiling. It's easier when I lay down flat. With the board under me and the ceiling in my back, the height is almost okay. And it is a good hiding spot. Nobody ever looks up. 

Here, I am finally allowed to cringe in pain, and shake as much as I like, immer voice be dammed. A girl can only talk herself out of so many brekdows. 

It is Professor Flitwick who comes to check on the empty corridor. He casts several spells, and I feel magic touch me, but since I am a student and welcomed by Professor Dumbledore himself, it does not consider me a threat. Phew. 

"Filius? What is going on?" A second player has entered the stage. 

"Oh, nothing, Minerva, I guess it's nothing. Just some Yelling Frisbee I would say. Why don't you check what your Marauders are up to? Now that I think about it, I haven't seen them since lunch yesterday..." 

But Minerva, her animagus senses perfectly in line, looks up like a cat looking up to a spider. Dumbledore said it himself, she is able to see through it. 

"Yes, I will go see on them. But don't worry, Filius, they know that when they are in troubles they can always come and speak to me." Flitwick looks confused, and it surely isn't a normal statement in a conversation like that - it is meant for me. I appreciate it, but I am in no temptation to follow it. She didn't believe us in first year with the stone, she didn't protect Harry in second year when everyone treated him like a danger, and I am still not over that Quidditch favoritism from my first day out. 

More often than not, I want to shake people and yell that sports is not more important than people, untill they finally understand. As I said, my patience with people is wearing thin. 

Also, I am saving myself now. I came this far on my own, I can keep going. Once I'm back in my tent, I place the glass with the time sand in eyesight. I like the way it swirls and turns, almost hypnotic, like a galaxy of it's own, just like the now visible swirls on my wrists, like the feathers danced around me, or the first snow of the year outside... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one gets rather dark, internal monolog wise. That's why it took me so long to come back to it, sorry dear readers. If you're still here, wow, amazing!


	7. Well then, if we agree, it is not odd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... almost on time with the Christmas chapter!

Christmas is truly coming, only two weeks ahead, and I am watching the castle fill with trees and ornaments and gifts and cheer.

The mood catches on to me and I have started working on something for the only two people that really know I'm here: Professor Dumbledore will receive the time sand and all I have found out as a receipt to perform the extraordinary magic to get a timetraveler back where she belongs - a mind like his will enjoy a puzzle. Also it is really time he helped me. 

For Severus, who seems at the verge of losing hold over his emotions any moment, I need to be more careful. I do want to help him, and I have an idea how to help him, but he is not the kind of kid to accept help, and I'm not the kid who hands out cheerful homework planners any more. 

In good old Hogwarts tradition, I have charmed one of the old diaries. Nothing terrifying and mind-controlling though. Well, not _like this._ Just a slight manipulation. Some riddles to open it, some puzzles to gain access to the chapters, and then I put in all information about Occlumency I have read or found out myself, combined with questions and observations. A field book, and the lettering, dating and details all point in the direction of Jeanne Baret at its author. An extraordinary witch, the first witch to have completed a voyage of circumnavigation of the globe totally muggle-style; she only used magic once to disguise as a man and once to save her lover. 

I will make sure that he finds it, and hope that he'll take it on, and that it helps him as it helped me, and that he'll think he has picked it up from a woman. Hehe.

Won't do him any harm, another perspective. These seventies here are actually fifties, when it comes to equality. They do offer lessons for housework at Hogwarts. Yes I listened. There is no downside to knowledge. 

Apart from being a product of his time ever so often, and a git when he's pushed to it, Severus Snape the Boy now really is my friend. Strange how these things go. Sometimes you need a cave troll. Sometimes you need hours of whispered midnight conversations.

If I ever get out of here, I'm going to raid the next best muggle psychology bookstore and find out all about friendship. Should have done that years ago. I sigh quietly to myself. Time to talk to another human again, I haven't seen him for a full week. I have noticed that the best cure about overthinking social interaction is actually having social interaction. 

It's almost curfew when he finally storms into the library, smashes his books on the table, slams them open and starts to work aggressively. Not even the older students dare to look in his general direction. Usually he looks around once he is alone, waiting for me to show up, but today he's burying himself in work again. He has been doing that for days before his total disappearance, not saying a word to anyone. This is more than the studious obsessions with a specific topic we both tend to have from time to time. This isn't good for him. 

With a wave of wand, I conjure a soft, warm wind that ruffles his hair. I have decided that this is a way a bodiless being would greet someone they like, and usually he doesn't mind. Today, he throws an angry glare like a dagger over his shoulder, where he expects me to be. He's getting better at that. 

"What is it, Baby Snake?" 

"Not today, Whisper, leave me alone," he snaps. 

"Really?" 

"Not really." He sighs. "Wait. Muffilato!" 

"What's that?" I am not graced with an answer, but I notice myself. It is silence. He pulls it around himself like a coat, raising walls and walls between him and everyone else. You need one to know one, I guess. "

Severus, what is it?"

Minutes go by. He stares at his hands, examines the few drops of ink that his cramped handwriting had allowed to escape the quill. When I'm about to give up, he finally says: "Been fighting with Lily. Again." 

"What about?" 

"Levicorpus." 

Sometimes, talking to him is a pain. I have to drag out every word. "What is that?" 

"A spell." 

"So?" 

"I designed it." 

Oha. Well, that's some advanced stuff. I'm impressed, but don't let it show. A mystical being would not be impressed. "What went wrong?"

He leaves the table, and for a moment I am sure he is about to leave, but he only goes to get comfortable in his favorite windowsill. A longer story, then. When you pull a curtain in front of it, it's a great reading nook. I've been sitting there myself several times. 

"If you insist," he starts off sarcastically, but his tone changes soon. "It was for Averys birthday. I still owed him for that time he defended me from Black, so I wanted to give him something. I didn't have... um, I wanted it to be special, so I designed a spell. I put it on his Exploding Snap cards as a joker that lifts the loser up at his ankles. We had several matches, was a great laugh." 

He sounds proud now, the pride shimmers through whatever pushes him down so much recently. A fifth-year that designs spells has every reason to be proud. I get comfortable, too. 

"Avery's clever, though, and found out how to use the spell as a hex. Nobody cared, it was his birthday, okay? So what if he used it? But all the others started using it, and in the end that asshat Mcnair used it on a Gryffindor girl, Alice. She was hanging there and he made jokes about her... her underwear. And her belly. I agree with Lily, this was a shit thing to do, but it wasn't my fault." 

Hm. Yeah well, that sucks. I don't know how I feel about that. Finally I say: "When you create something you are responsible for it," but I feel like a hypocrite. I created Whisper, after all, and I don't know if I'm being responsible with it. 

"That's utter nonsense, my invisible friend," he sneers. "People don't even take responsibility for their own children, and they do more than just _create_ them." He spats the words. Does he mean his own parents? Or the parents of bullies? Those can never be bothered with their little angler's actions, that I know for sure. 

"Also, what can I do now? It's out there, and Lily hasn't spoken to me all week. But the Slytherins speak to me now. Avery's little gang is all... I don't know, suddenly they act as if they care. Too little, too late, I told them, but they just act as if I've been with them all along." He shrugs helplessly. 

I'm glad I have an answer now, at least for the initial problem, one that is as much a challenge for him as it is a way to make up: " Make a counter-curse for Levicorpus. Even the field."

His face lights up, but my thoughts circle around something else. "... how?" 

"How what, Whisper?" 

"How did Avery find out the spell?" 

"There is a hex that forces magical objects to give up their secrets. It's seen as dark magic, though, so of course almighty Dumbledore banned it. I guess he's afraid people would modify it and use it on each other. Have everyone happily confess their secrets. Um, maybe I shouldn't have said that. That we use spells like that. Don't... judge me, too, okay?" 

Now I have to laugh, and that makes him grin a little, only a tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"What's funny?" 

"Me, judging..." After all, I mimic a magical bodiless being to hide the fact that I crashed through time. "Things are just what people make them, Baby snake. Everything can be dangerous, if you make it so..." 

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. 

"Imagine a sock-folding spell, while someone still wears them." 

"Pretty dark, Whisper. I like that." 

"Don't do it." 

"Nah, don't worry. I don't want Lily to hate me even more. Also, I'm working on something better, for enemies." 

"What..." But in that moment, Madam Pince shows up to throw out the last students for the day. She is the only one who already looks the way she does in my time. I wonder if she is even human. As always, the conversation keeps twirling in my head after I've returned to my couch-bed. The devil is in the details, it seems. A joke got out of a hand, a friendship got a crack, and the Slytherins suddenly find Severus interesting. There are rumors in my time about him more than flirting with the dark. Is this how it begins, I wonder as I fall asleep. 

The first real snow comes like a shock to me, despite keeping track of the calendar. Knowing something and seeing it are never quite the same. When I wake up somewhat midday in my quiet tent, the trees outside are powdered in white. I have been here for months now. It is the mid of December, almost Christmas, and I am still here, a ghost, a whisper.

Suddenly, I cannot stand the piling letters on my nightstand any more. Maybe I'll never get back, and even if I get back, I won't give them to anyone. With a wave of wand and a whispered word, a bluebell flame turns them to ash. 

I don't feel better after that. I clutch my wand, point it here and there, but no idea for a spell or hex releases my energy. I would love to create something, just for the joy of seeing it come to be. I think about that, and absentmindedly, I draw lines on my forearm with my wand. The time sand followed them, forming new, beautiful patterns, just as aquarell colors do when you swirl the brush in clear water. I have done that way too often in the last weeks.

The sand is so close under my skin now, after that collection spell, that I can see its golden glow. It almost doesn't hurt to make it move. It feels like scratching scab, satisfying, disgusting. 

Scab. Scabbers. Peter Pettigrew is here, right in front of me. I could turn him into a mug, hide him under the piles. Nobody would know. My best friend would have parents. Or someone else would have given them up then. Despite history always being what it is, and therefore my plan doomed to fail, would history close the gap with another traitor? I draw the sand under my skin here and there. It hurts in a good way. I am alive and visible to see it move. 

I wonder if, in my time, I am back at McGonagall's office only minutes after I left, and if I am busy figuring out gifts for the boys now. Will be busy. Are going to will be busy... Whatever. I draw a spiral with my wand. The time sand follows. Will Severus go home for Christmas? He has been searching for a gift for Lily forever. Last time I saw him trying to invent a spell that would turn a glass into a beautiful crystal vase, a very delicate piece of magic. I know he's trying to make up for Levicorpus, to create something that cannot be corrupted by anyone. Crystal... my thoughts start to drift. 

Suddenly, there is a jolt. As if the world has moved just a small step to the left, without me. All noise is gone. I have stepped out of the loud living room on Christmas morning into the quiet kitchen. 

There are lights around me, lights like the aurora borealis, shining in different colors, slowly moving in invisible air streams, circling and turning. 

They are in front of the windows, around the piles and piles of books, around me. I get up. Carefully, as if my steps could disturb them, I go to them. I am drawn to the lights; they are so beautiful that I am almost crying. They are not dangerous, I know it in my head and heart. They are your grandma's arms, cradling you after a nightmare. They are the smell of freshly mowed grass in early summer, and the smooth surface of new parchment, and the taste of hot chocolate, your cat's purr, and your mother playing the piano in another room. They are the warm ball in your stomach when a spells finally works out and magic ignites under your fingertips. 

Slowly I raise my hand to them, and I see something shine under my skin. While playing with my wand, I have drawn one of the wards from the old, half burned book, and the time sand is glowing back to the colors. It is the ward for Seeing, and I understand in that moment that what I see is magic. The magic that is around me, that is everywhere at Hogwarts.

I turn around and see myself in the splintered mirror, magic shining in my chest like the bluebell flames, filling my whole body with elegantly spiraling sparks, fill my fingertips, fill my eyes, calling and answering to the magic all around. Seeing. 

Credendo vides, as the muggles say, you believe as you see.

But I have more than belief. I know magic. I have seen its results, tested, felt it. But now that I have seen it, really seen it... a tension I did not know I was holding leaves my shoulderblades. Ever since my letter came, a part of me was afraid that it would all turn out to be untrue, or that I would lose it somehow. Now I know I won't. How could I? It is all around me and it is my core. 

With a wipe of my wand, I make the ward disappear, and the sand finds its own patterns again. The magical flows fade. I draw the ward again, and as soon as I do so, it reappears. 

The feeling if wonder stays, but the burning excitement of a new project takes over immediately. This - I love this. I want to keep it. I want to _solve_ it, _know_ it, _understand_ it. As quick as I can, I nick one of the empty journals from my pile of useful things and start to scribble. _When you document it, it's science, not nonsense_.

My new special ability wears off after a minute. Only when I draw the ward on my arm with ink and put a sticking charm on it, the time sand stays there for some hours, when I speak a sealing charm to bind all the time sand in the tiny symbol (that makes my skin itch terribly, as if one of these little pieces of fabric with the washing instructions is still in your shirt) it stays for a whole day. Every magic comes with limitations. 

I take my time to learn by heart all of the wards that are in the remains of the book. Wards, just as runes, are strong symbols for simple ideas that have interested mankind. Seeing. Hiding. Hearing. Steady. Quiet. 

After several intense debates with myself, I chose the ward that I find the most useful: Hiding. And with the ward drawn on my wrist and the time sand firmly bound into it, I am completely and utterly invisible, not even a shimmer or a contour gives away my Desillusioned self. It feels good. It feels safe. I am pulling the knowledge of magic and invisibility around me, just like Severus does with the silence. 

With the ward on, I am able to re-claim the grounds of Hogwarts. I hover to the lake-side, Hagrid's little house and whatever creature he is cooing over there in the moment, I see the Whomping Willow in the distance, the gardens in the snow... 

It feels good to be outside again, but it it also overwhelming. The light is brighter, the wind colder, the snow has a fresh smell I never noticed before, and the air is so crispy I can fee on prickle on my invisible skin. The dead grass rustles, the owls hoot in the distance, the thin ice coat of the lake moves. It is almost worse than coming out of the room again, worse and better, because I close to come here, because I am free to come and go as I please. 

That day, when I'm finally in the safety of the library again, I am not actively searching Severus' attention. And of course, today is the day he is actively calling out for me for the first time again. "Whisper?" 

I feel the blood rush back to my cheeks, after it just had settled into my numb, cold fingers. 

"Whisper? You here?"

No one else is here. I am tired and my limbs are heavy. Why didn't I go back to my room immediately? .. Y. ou dont have to answer, H, you are an ancient mysterious being, not a lap dog... 

"Whisper. I may need... advise with something. Please?" 

Oh fuck fuck fuck, fuckety-fuck. Okay. I conjure the usual wind and touch his cheek with it. He leans into the warm feeling and smiles, and I feel immediately like an asshole, for even considering to stay silent. When you create something, you are responsible. 

"Hey. There you are. Em, well, look." He points with his wand at the vase I saw him turn a glass into. It enlarges, and transforms into an elegantly shaped bowl. He opens his hand, and something touches the water surface. A flower. A lily flower. I feel a sting in my chest. Of course.

The lily is floating in the middle of the artificial pond. Then, he begins to draw a complicated pattern over the flower, eyebrows almost touching from concentrating so hard. The flower starts to transform, until it is the shape of a beautiful, wing-tailed goldfish, and then turns back.

I am astonished. The cold, the ward, my heavy limbs are forgotten. This is one really impressive piece of magic. And entirely _good._ Glass, water, flowers, non-predatory animals are all considered symbols for the side of the Light. Muggles have them rooted deeply in their most hopeful rituals, through all religions. 

The charm he is inventing for her has layers and layers underneath, it is all he doesn't know how to say.

"It's rubbish, right? It just won't stay a damn fish." 

I decide to not lecture about self hate, perfectionism, and the dangers of putting all your hope into the ability and willingness of others to find hidden meanings. A real-life friend could have done that, with a squeeze of your arm and a smile, but I see no way to say it without cruelty. And this shouldn't be damaged by cruelty, or twisted by doubt. I have no right to do that. 

"Show me the spellwork." 

A precious piece of parchment, filled with the tiniest writing, sentences crossed out and words added elsewhere, is enfolded on the table. I starte at it until my eyes hurt. 

"I know there is a mistake, Whisper, but where..." 

I have to admit I have no clue on how to invent spells, and I really don't know enough to find a mistake. But when in doubt, go back to the basics. I know this much. "You know about... the very first spell?" 

"Course, Whisper," he says carelessly, while he stares at his work. "Abracadabra. I create as I speak. Used by the Ancients to conjure anything they wanted." 

"Until..." 

"Until the results became way too unpredictable, and Gamp's law came in the way, and they started to specify each spell as much as possible, to work out it's parameters by approximation. Merlin's grey underpants, of course!" His eyes glitter. "You can't conjour life, per se, so once the flower dies off it changes its state, so I need to preserve the flower... I need another specification here... no, here... so the transformation stays, and rearrange the factors in the calculation of the syllable values to confide with..." 

His words turn to mumbling. He isn't used to vocalize his ideas (why should he, be with no one listening), but he is getting there on his own nevertheless. 

"Whisper, you're bloody brilliant!" 

"I know..." But he doesn't hear it, since he is digging nose first into the pile of books next to him. That's the best thing about smart people: To help them, you don't need answers, just the right questions. And a little background knowledge from the History of Magic. Boring useless subject, eh, Harry? 

Since it is only a few days till Christmas we are pulling an all-nighter now. And another one. And ditch some courses. I would never encourage that with Ron and Harry, but here - well. I'm not that kind of rule lover any more. 

When its finally time for their usual Thursday homework date, I am just as excited and anxious as Severus is. He is playing it cool, though, does the work, and only hands her the small box when she is about to leave, with a "Merry Christmas Lils, donthavetoopenitnow" (one word).

She does of course open it now, and looks confused as she finds the neatly written instructions on a fresh sheet of parchment, and a marble. She reads carefully, biting her lip, and then she taps the marble three times with her wand. It enlarges to the bowl with the fresh blossom in it, and with a move he has perfected just a few hours ago, and with the perfection of overfatigue and thrill, Severus draws the pattern. Lily stares. Severus holds his breath. So do I. 

The blossom sinks down and turns to the fish, who does a happy little turn in the glass. It is perfect. "It is... beautiful, Sev. I - wow. Thank you." Carefully tiptoeing, so she doesn't spill any water from the bowl in her hand, she kisses him on the cheek, and pure happiness flashes over his face like a shooting star in the night sky. "A real fish... he's... alive?" Her cheeks glow. All leftover resentment from their fight melts away from her posture, her shoulders, her face. 

"Yeah... when you're away you can change him back to a flower, so you don't need to worry about caring for him... when you return he'll be there when you tap the glass." He stares at his dirty shoes.

Layer under layer under layer. 

Lily steps back from him and beams. "This is brilliant. I will head home tomorrow morning, and Tuney would be dead scared of a magical fish, but like this it is perfect! About Christmas now, erm, I..." 

Severus holds his breath again, and so do I. We both were working so hard on that - and there is so much more to it. I am convinced now that the reason Dumbledore trusts Severus in the future is his allegiance to Lily, their lifelong friendship and mutual trust, which will be his anchor to the side of the Light. It has to be. The way his voice turns soft when he speaks about her, and all he has put into this charm...

Sure, they are having troubles right now, difficulties, but it can change right here and now. Right here and now, the future is made, I think, and my heart beats wildly. The ancient Greeks with their dramas and poetry, the ones who structured and defined storytelling once and for all, called this moment Peripeteia. The one point at the very top of the mountain of events that will change it all, the point from which on it will inevitably fall to one side or the other. Happiness or despair. The last moment where everything is open, hanging just in the balance, as long as the sentence isn't finished, the choice is not made yet, the step not taken. 

Just invite him for Christmas, Lily, I plea with all my heart. Even when he isn't coming, even when it's too short a time now, just show him that you would want him there, just tell him you'd like to invite him. As friends. As someone who cares. Just that. Just care. He cut out his damn heart with that piece of magic and put it before your pretty feet. Please, Lily.

"... but I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow before I go off, okay? And again, thank you." She smiles brightly, waves, clutches the fish bowl to her chest and leaves.

"You're welcome, Lily." He says her name like a prayer, and when she turns around and leaves the library, the comet of happiness in his eyes has passed by and dies in the blackness of space. 

My usual approach, to imagine that in one version of reality she did understand, and all is well, does not help this time. There is a cold lump in my stomach, and I just want to go home. But I remain here with him, in the library, while the faint daylight slowly fades and the room drowns in grey shadows. 

Peripeteia.

* **

If you like, find a bit of atmospheric music for this chapter here: https://youtu.be/OqWjekiztoU


	8. that one man's evil is another's god

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers, thanks for keeping up with my slow pace! I will not abandon it, but what even is time?! 
> 
> Oh, also: With amazing fireworks existing in the HP universe, I see no reason why Hogwarts shouldn't celebrate New Year.

New Year's Eve has come soon. The castle is almost empty, and the few students that are parked here use their time to not gain the teacher's attention and do as they like. I haven't seen Severus in a few days' time, and when I finally find him in the Forbidden Section, I am shocked: He is pale, hunched over, miserable. 

He has built a fortress of solitude, erm, books around him, but someone slythered in: The tiniest house elf I have ever seen sits on the table and gently pushes a plate with pancakes and fruit against his elbow. Deep in thought, Severus grabs a pancake from time to time and eats it without realizing. As soon as the elf sees me, it (she? he?) pats Severus' shoulder gently and disappears, just to appear right next to me on a bookshelf within the blink of an eye. 

"Master Nose doesn't eat when he's sad," the elf whimpers sadly. 

"Thank you for taking care of him, um ... Sorry, what's your name? If it's all right to ask?" I have never really talked to a house elf before, and would give my right hand for a social protocol. Anything, really. Why did we spend so much time with hippogryffs and flubberworms, instead of the creatures right under our noses?

"It is very nice to ask. I is Filly from the Slytherin Elves," proudly she points at her clean towel with the crest "and Miss is Miss Guardian. Now we introduced properly. Will Miss help Master Nose today?" 

"Yes, I... I thought about... well..." The elf beams at me so brightly that I start to feel uncomfortable. How do I deserve such a smile? And why does she call me Miss Guardian? I do hardly deserve a title, I hardly do any guarding. But maybe it seems a lot, compared to nothing?

"Master Nose is much better since Miss is here, guarding him. Less sulking. Writes letters to smart people who write him smart things back. Miss did that." 

I smile back, but it's a sad, and still invisible, smile now. "There is only so much I can do. But I will bent the rules a little tonight." 

"Thank you, Miss. And Miss? Miss is not invisible to all."

Sudden tears jump to my eyes, and I swallow hard. "Thank you, Filly. I am -" I don't know what I want to say I am. She disappears, and I need a while to compose myself, and then I think about a plan and watch Master Nose. When it's about eleven, I have something like an idea. 

"Hullo, baby snake... how about an adventure?" 

"What, in here?" His voice is cold, distant, and aloof. His eyes look bigger than usual. 

"Nah. Astronomy Tower." 

"It is locked." 

"Nothing is locked for me. Meet me at the top... in 15 minutes." That sounds way cooler than it is, actually. It is easy to hover to the secret passage to the storage cellar under the tower, a little challenge to pass it without waking up the telescopes (they are rather bitchy that they aren't allowed outside tonight), and no challenge at all to alohomora my way upwards from the inside, and to leave the doors open. 

They are protected against people getting inside, after all, not people getting out, and the castle itself seems up to a little mischief. And it also always been oddly supportive of kids sneaking out for some snogging. Not what I have in mind though.

It is, on the other hand, an incredible huge challenge to wait in the night, on top of the damn tower, for him to decide whether he wants to come or not. I am about to decide that I am going to enjoy the view no matter what, but my traitor heart feels so much lighter once it hears him come. Stupid thing, fluttering in my chest all of a sudden. Social interaction, the challenge that never fails to humble me. Some things are locked after all.

"Tower... great... so... what now?" He is, of course, out of breath. Must be hard to actually walk up all these steps. Hehe. 

"Now we wait." My whisper voice is almost ripped away by the cold wind, but that only makes the effect better. Only when he starts to eye the ground far below with more interest than he should, I start to question whether or not this was a good idea. 

"L'appel du vide," I warn. 

"I know," Snape snaps. "Don't worry. Don't want you to see something like that. Only in some nights it is stronger. Some nights it's just... sad," he admits. 

Thank everyone who listened that I have an answer for that: "The best thing for being sad is to learn something. That is the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honor trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then – to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting."

"Sounds stupid. Who said that?" 

"Merlin," I answer happily, literally shoving everyone's favorite Slytherin into his face. Now that takes the wind out of his sails for a moment. Ha. Camelot always trumps. 

"And what should there be to learn? More of the same?" He sighs, and leans on the balustrade, trying to pierce the night. Sometimes I am astonished that people can ask something like this in a magic school. "Oh, just wait for it." 

And as the old year runs out, minute by minute, like sand grains run through an hourglass, the invisible girl and the dark boy wait on the tower in the night. When finally the first sparks of firework rise in the distance, I feel released. Soon enough, Professor Flitwick and McGonagall raise their own wands to fill the sky with light and sparkles, and the smile that slowly reappears on Severus' face encourages me to go through with the whole plan.

"Do you trust me, Baby Snake?" 

"Yes." I smile my invisible smile at him, and once again I am sure he catches it nevertheless. 

Carefully I touch the white back of his slim hand with the tip of my invisible wand, and quickly I draw the ward for seeing. A few seconds later, I hear him gasp, and I know now that he sees what I see. 

Even without time sand, and for the few moment it works on him, the effect is all I have hoped for. Mesmerized, he stares into the sky, looks over the castle, the lake, the forest, the magical fireworks, and while he turns around and round to take in the whole world at once, he even gets a glance of me. Even after the ward has faded from his skin completely, I can still see the colors of magic reflect in his eyes. "

Happy New Year, Severus." 

"Happy New Year, Whisper. I wish I... anyway. Thank you. For everything." 

And there it is again, the sting in my chest - the little ache of my heart, as I regret the fact that I can't just take his hand. 

Oh. Oh no. 

Oh. No. 

I cannot, I must not, feel this regret. This is the boundary I must never cross. I cannot take the hand of another person in the past. Especially not of Professor Snape. 

_Actually, right now, he is just a boy. And you are just a whisper..._

No. Just no. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. Friendship yes. Alliance, yes. Trust, even. Yes. But no other feelings.

"I have to get back..." My whisper voice never betrays me. No wailing or shrieking or yelling. 

"I see. Yes, I better get back to the dorm, too, right? Good night, Whisper..." 

"Good night..." The whole way back to my hideout, my chest aches, and my mind yells at me about my cowardice. As if being sensible and _smart_ and holding back was not an act of bravery. As if keeping control, for my and others sake, was not valuable. 

And yet, and yet... there would be an easy way to find out if I actually have a _problem_ here. 

Despite my own little lion voice that roars in my mind and tries to force me into action, it is almost morning until I finally face the test I have in mind. Painfully exposed in my visibility, I am in the corner where I left the Mirror of Erised. 

With a swishhh, the blanket falls. Didn't Harry say that there were words in mirror text written on it? The frame is empty. Well, maybe Dumbledore added them later when he used the mirror as hiding place. 

And I do look, I brace myself against the picture of me and Severus hand in hand (or worse), or me and Harry and Ron, or me finally holding that never-ending-story-book, whatever it will be. But I am really not expecting what I see now.

There is nothing in the mirror. Absolutely nothing.

What does that mean? Is my deepest wish to be truly invisible? Or to disappear from existence? No. Neither. Really, no. Maybe it is broken? Carefully, I reach out to touch the glass. When I can almost feel the smooth surface under my fingertips, I hesitate. That is not a smart move. I should really just go.

And for once in a lifetime I just do what I really should do. I put the blanket back on and leave it for good. It's like throwing a coin when you have to make a decision: While the coin is in the air, you know what you wish for. And I know what I wished for. I wished for what can never be. I wished for Severus Snape to stand beside my visible self and hold my hand. As easy as that. As impossible as that. No guardians, time travellers, chosen ones - a boy and a girl holding hands and watching the fireworks. The blanket moves slightly over the mirror, long after I have gone, and there is an invisible sigh in the air.

After school has started again, the days blur into each other. Without a clear schedule I lose track of time more than once, I get lost in the spaces between hours, meals, days and nights. After the incident with the spider, I don't go outside for three whole weeks, and spent my time building wind chimes from small trinkets I found in the room instead, thinking of my grandma making them for me when I was small and afraid of the dark. _They distract nightmares, baby girl._ I hang them all over my tent, and watch them move gently.

This is how Professor Dumbledore finds me once he has finally returned to the castle.

"Miss Granger?" His voice is loud and sharp in the empty room, and it is weird to hear my own name again. Surreal.

"Sir?" I say from the floor where I was laying, making the wing chimes move with soft blows from my wand. I don't get up to greet him. I'm not a puppy.

"Miss Granger, I was told that one certain Mister Lockheart prances the grounds of my school and tells everyone that he won the fight against a young Acrumantula that attacked him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

"How good for him, sir," I rasp.

"Excuse me? Speak up, Miss Granger, if you please." There is no twinkle in his eyes as he tries to pierce the nothing around him.

"I said good for him, sir. He is like that in my time, sir, always taking the credit for every victory near him, but I can hardly imagine there was so much as a fight. Acrumantula go the way of least resistance." I add all the power of my invisible stare, the stare trained with Severus, that people feel in their neck sometimes. And Dumbledore feels it too, I guess.

He backs off with his anger. Or maybe it is just the fact that an invisible time-traveler is sitting in a tent among wind chimes made out of magical objects and glares at him.

"Is he like that, in your time? Interesting."

I let the cover drop and turn visible, get on my feet with a fluent motion I may or may not have practiced, see my tired and slim face and the self-assured crooked half smile I shamelessly copy from Severus reflected in the now again twinkling eyes.

"Yes, sir, indeed he is." I stand in front of him, and suddenly I feel tall, and strong, and smart. It was me, not Lockhart, who stood their ground against the spider that had been led to the grounds as a practical joke. It was me, not Lockhart, who was there and reacted. But he will not ask, and I will not tell, and something changes between us, as if I had passed a test.

"So, Hagrid has no reason to be mad at him for the cut in the Acrumantula's leg? Not that young Gilderoy has a talent for cutting spells, if I remember correctly."

"How could I know, sir? I am not to be seen outside." I smile.

"That is very right, Miss Granger. Even though, in times of war, an additional guardian to the castle would be of great value, wouldn't it? Especially since some of the students are more on the... adventurous side of things."

"It may appear so, sir." We both circle this new idea like cats may a hot pie they found in a window still.

"And such a guardian would be allowed to go anywhere as he or she pleases, with the Headmasters blessing, and therefore with the castle itself on their side," he says. He can't be everywhere at once. The teachers don't care the way they should, and don't always judge well, I've seen it. I could do these things. If I wanted to.

"If a guardian like that could enable a small time window for said Headmaster to investigate on the case of forward time travel with the help of a certain glass on his desk, a nightly patrol would be possible."

"Would be?" "

Will be, sir. Hogwarts and what it stands for will be protected with whatever is possible." My throat hurts from the now unfamiliar effort to speak up, and I am suddenly sick of his game.

But why not make it my game? Do I have anything better to do? King Arthur pops into my head again. A king and his knight, the sworn shield to the castle, a small light in this raising darkness. Why not? I find myself longing for this task, this _quest._

Being a former Gryffindor, I am sure that Dumbledore understands (if not appreciates) gestures just as much, and without further hesitation I give him my dagger, handle first. He takes it, and seals it with a "So be it."

"So be it," I repeat, and as I touch the blade, it glows in a warm and friendly gold. I can't help but smile at Dumbledore.

Here we are, a king and his lionheart, sworn in over a small drop of spider blood that may still be on the blade - different from non magical spiders they do, in fact, bleed.

What Hogwarts stands for. And what is that, for you? The voice in my head taunts.

I don't know, but I am not afraid . Lose threads. Possibilities. And where there are possibilities, there is freedom.

From now on, I feel not only able to move freely, I also got my sense of purpose back. I sleep during the day and patrol in the darkness. The soft glow of the blade, always visible through the Seeing Ward and always answered to by a greeting glow right in the walls of the castle itself, leads me through night after night. I learn he crannies and nooks of the castle, the secrets, towers to deepest corridors. I move in between the schedules of teachers, prefects, ghosts, cats and house elves. Especially theirs; I think they are what glues it all together in the end, they are the warmth of the hearth fire and the awaiting bed after long days. I see the great pride they take in their work, how they boast over their children in their houses, and I am glad that at least, they are happy. Even though happiness should not be matter of the sheer luck to be born or bound to the right place.

_If you go down that road, H, you can just as well just take over the government and break the whole damn society._

_Why does it sound like a bad idea when you say it?_

_Because you are still invisible and stuck in the past._

I debate myself and continue to dream, I live forwards through the past in a strange balance of hyper awareness and being far away in my mind. How comes that, from all the societies and world structures we could have come up with, this is the one we chose and keep choosing? I move in between the shadows and whisper my small charms, to break a curse fired at a back here, and free a familiar hexes stuck there, and tug here and there at the threads that connects everything, carefully searching for the web I feel must be there.

The nights pass and it smells like spring, and then the first hints of summer linger in the air, and I get to see the castle like never before. Now sworn directly to it, and with the swirling and everflowing magic to guide me, it has no boundaries apart from the Chamber of Secrets, which I do not wish to visit. Being petrified for once was more than enough. Now, no one would save me. Whatever happens now, I can only save myself.

But the castle does not endanger me, it welcomes me, and soon I sit on rooftops as comfortable as in armchairs, hover through secret passages and have all the doors open and all the rooms recognize me. Sometimes, around three in the morning, when the world is quiet enough to deny its very existence, and I let my fingertips glide along the cold stones to reassure myself of their texture, I am almost sure to hear it sing.

I try to describe it to Severus, and he even touches the wall in his reading nook, but he doesn't get it. "Anyway, a singing cage would not be less of a cage, eh?"

"What will you do... once you leave?" As if I don't know. He looks sadly in my general direction.

"I don't think you ever really get to leave, right?" N

o, I can't let that stand. No hope, for no one, ever? "Once upon a time... in a different time.. my father told me that his real life didn't start before he was mid-thirty."

"You had a dad? Well, on the other side everyone has, right? And what happens in his thirties?"

"He said he arrived. At the job, new friends, mum, me. He said school was not that important, in the end... he said you keep growing, everyone, and things will fall into place eventually... the hurt does not go away but it is less important."

He told me again and again and again, when he found me on the front porch, school bag at my feet, still sobbing after the day's small cruelties. The hurt will be less important.

"Sounds like a smart man, that dad of yours. Did you knew your mom? How were they?" He leans is head on his knees, arms around the legs. Outside of the library, I have seen the well-known expression of an Occlumency shield from time to time now. Not quite the wall I have aquired, but on the other hand I have way more to hide. "

How were they... understanding. Loving. Smart. Flawed. Funny. Good people. Good team. Did their best, but my world scared them."

"You miss them, eh?"

"Terribly."

"I understand. My folks, well..." He looks down an bites his lips, shifting uncomfortably.

"You never talk about them. That says enough."

"And again you get it, Whisper. Why do you always get it?"

"You see a lot when you are unseen, Severus."

But I don't feel that unseen any more, to be honest. After the castle has accepted me, and with my regular tasks, I got better. A lot better. Finally, I am really in charge of something again, and it fuels me. Even the students seem to feel my stare in the neck now, when I catch them at something I don't approve.They shudder, and leave, and Mrs. Norris grins her cat-grin at me, and the Grey Lady once saw a glimpse of my dagger and smiled approvingly.

And the house elves. They act as if they don't notice me, because I am to be invisible, but they keep placing treacle tarts and other sweets in places I pass on my rounds. I started leaving little thank-you-notes, and got a lot of happily drawn smiley faces back. Maybe they are what I want to protect - what they see in us.

And suddenly summer is there, and I witness how the teachers enchant the Great Hall with Anti-Cheats and Whisper-Nots and Spell-Me-Rights for the dyslexic, who are allowed to write with blue Correcting Quills that respond to said spells. At least here, the wizard world is more forwardthinking than their non-magic counterparts. I wonder if technology can solve that in the future. Whatever future.

Anyway, it is O.W.L.-time, and stress and pressure take over the student body. More than once I alert Madam Pomfrey through the help of Mrs. Norris when I find a student near or in the middle of a breakdown. That cat is scarily smart. As it is my habit now I sleep through the day, and start my first round when it's almost dawning.

I see James and Peter hang out at the well of the upper courtyard. The full moon is almost rising, glancing through heavy rain clouds after a hot day, and the boys seem to wait for someone (Sirius, I guess) as they eye it suspiciously. I wonder if they have achieved their animagus forms already.

There are still about 30 minutes left until curfew, so I allow myself to hang out on the wall under the big rose bushes, enjoy the smell and the company of these teenagers, who are, through all flaws and troubles, incredibly true to each other; and really talented. And who am I to judge. If you consider that even Professor McGonagall didn't try for animagus unless she was almost 30...

I jump a little as I hear thunder in the distance, a lingering thunderstorm, as if all the pressure and energy from the students emerges into the sky. Sirius arrives when the first flash of lightning parts the air.

"Too late, Mister Padfoot." James rises an eyebrow. Sirius, overly pretty and fully aware of that, long hair blowing in the upcoming wind, poses a moment with the storm in the background.

"When shall we three meet again?" he declaims, before hugging James. I hardly see him without at least one arm around someone. Doesn't get many hugs at home, I guess. James smiles fondly at him, and then clears his throat.

"Right now, Gentlemen, right now... I have called this meeting tonight so we can decide what to do with Snivellus. Today he finally overplayed his hand, for good" James starts. His voice grows hard in anger.

"Lily still crying?" Sirius asks. I grow alert. What has happened? Really, I leave them alone for one hour ...

"Yeah. Peter went to the kitchen to get her hot cocoa, marshmallows and all, but Alice just grabbed it and shut the door in his face."

Pettigrew nods.

"She doesn't blame us for what that greasy git said to her, does she?" Sirius looks baffled. What the hell?

"I don't know, Pads. Maybe she does, maybe we even are, but he is responsible for what he said. I can't stand to see her suffer like that, lads. We have to make him pay."

"Don't you worry, mate, I got you." Sirius grins now and leans back. "I think I got him back pretty good."

"What did you do? Tell me!" James is all eager now, and I lean in, too. Looks like I have to pick Severus out of some dark corner again.

"Well, I met him like 10 minutes ago. He completely snapped when he saw me, okay? Hexed me into the wall. No, don't worry, I let him win so he'd listen. First of all I told him that I think you overdid it by the lake today." He snickers, and Peter giggles. Lake? I had been sleeping, knowing all teachers and some aurors being on duty - what had happened?"

" 'course he threatened to do one of his black spells on me. I acted as if I was afraid of him," James laughs at that "and told him that I would tell him something he wanted to know all along if he'd let me go. Of course he believed it, stupid prick. And now guess who is just making his way down the Whomping Willow channel? He'll crap his ugly grey pants I swear! That's what you get for calling Lily a mudblood, and that's only the beginning, Merlin, Prongs..."

He called Lily a what now? No, this can't be. Then, it hits me like a bucket of ice water. The Whomping Willow Chanel. He set Severus off to see Remus. A fully-grown werewolf.

James gets there almost as fast as me.

"You gave away Remus? As a prank? Are you mental..? We have to..."

But I don't hear what he thinks they have to. Fear is rushing in my ears like waves. He is off to discover Remus. Alone. Soon.

No.

No!

All I am, all my thoughts, my whole person crushes down to the one word: No.

It hasn't been that long that I faced a werewolf myself, but I knew what would come, and I had my friends to throw themselves in front of me, and Severus, Professor Snape back then, who I had attacked only hours earlier, and who threw himself into the line of fire without hesitating for a moment, for Harry Potter, his tormentors' son, and now, and soon - !

And he would be in the Shrieking Shack any minute now, alone, facing a werewolf on his own, as always, all on his own.

Oh hell no.


End file.
